


Home of the Waiting Riddler (And His Mousy Companion)

by wanderingoverthewords



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bodily Harm, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingoverthewords/pseuds/wanderingoverthewords
Summary: The months of September and October were lonely for Edward Nygma. The last night of October made the wait for Jonathan to come home to him just a bit easier.(The first day of November, however, he could have done without…Maybe.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow; mentioned Julian Day, Batman, Jeremiah Arkham, Bernie, Robin, Nightwing, Echo.
> 
> Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma.
> 
> Warnings: forced drug taking, bomb usage (both cases are fear toxin), appearance of firearm, description of injection, blood; mention of assault, suicide, human experimentation, drug use, sexual themes, death.
> 
> Notes: No terrifying Halloween fic for this year, just a sweet, shippy Halloween fic about Ed waiting for his man to come home.
> 
> A WanderVerse fic.
> 
> Chapter 1 of 3.
> 
> All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used).

Edward would never claim he and Jonathan were attached at the hip, not without a great deal of sarcasm, but he’d discovered that he now had a certain distain for the months of September and October. He hadn’t minded them, a couple of years ago, but his adoration for one Jonathan Crane had quickly altered his opinion.

A fact about Jonathan that one needed to learn if they were going to enter the criminal underworld of Gotham was that he loved Halloween. It was _his_ holiday, _his_ time to shine, and the one day of the year that he went all-out with his schemes. None of the Rogues were allowed to have that day, lest they face Jonathan’s wrath.

Julian Day had learned this the hard way when he’d defied this wish of Jonathan’s, making it clear that - as the Rogue who ruled over the dates of the calendar - Halloween was just as much his day as it was Jonathan’s. Batman had found him a few hours later, battered and bloody and strung up like a scarecrow, straw stuffed down his throat and poking out from between his lips, and his skin stained with blotches of orange and green fear toxin. MY DAY had been graffitied on the wall beside him.

“Scarecrow wanted ta rip his heart out,” Jonathan had told both Batman and Dr. Arkham from his cell on the second day of November, grinning even in his straitjacket, practically purring through his words, “but I said no. I was feelin’ kinda nice, and wanted to see if he’d redeem himself. I’m a patient man, I can wait a year.”

Down the hall, Julian had been ripping the thirty-first day of October out of all the calendars the asylum had provided him - with his teeth, no less, because Arkham had had to wrap him in a straitjacket too, lest he go through with his plans to kill himself.

Since then, it’d been an unspoken rule that everybody left Jonathan the fuck alone during the build-up to Halloween night - and that included Edward.

Edward had expected to be cast out when Halloween started to come around, he knew Jonathan’s obsession with getting a perfect Halloween, but he hadn’t anticipated the lengths Jonathan would go to. He’d barely been home at all during those two months, stopping by only to grab any supplies or notes he’d left in his study. He’d taken Bernie with him and hadn’t offered Edward a greeting or a kiss or an assurance that he was fine whenever he’d popped in, just stormed into his office to grab his things.

If it weren’t for the security system confirming Jonathan had scanned his handprint outside, Edward wouldn’t have even known he was in the house.

It’d been like he and Jonathan weren’t even dating, like he’d just been holding Jonathan’s things for him - and it had, quite frankly, upset Edward greatly. And he’d made sure Jonathan knew it once Halloween was over.

This year, their second Halloween together, Jonathan had stayed home just a bit more, enough that Edward didn’t feel dumped and could make sure Jonathan was still eating well at least, but he’d still been gone most days of the months and had still barely spoken a word to Edward when he’d been there. They had had only one genuine conversation, and that had been about Bernie.

Edward had tried to offer his services, perhaps he could handle some part in Jonathan’s plan to lessen the stress of doing everything; he had received a silent death glare for his troubles.

There was simply no way around it, so Edward had to deal with it. He’d gotten on with his own business, dealt with his own needs for physical contact (bloody Crane leaving him without sex for _two bloody months),_ in general went on with his life. When Jonathan was home, Edward would stop by to hug him around the shoulders, drop off some food and kiss him behind the ear to show his support and patience during the Halloween season, but those moments were few and far between.

At least Jonathan had remembered him this time around; that morning, Edward had awoken to find a half gas mask and a note on his bedside table.

_Wear this from eleven o’clock onwards._

That’d been nice of him, Edward hadn’t gotten the courtesy the first time. He’d awoken on the morning of November first, cradled in Jonathan’s arms on the floor and having his hair petted and nuzzled, Jonathan’s purred voice in his ear, telling him how beautiful he was when he was frightened, like he’d been drunk on the sight of him.

(Jonathan had assured him truthfully, when Edward was coherent, that he had simply forgotten about Edward, but coming home to find him curled up in a ball on the floor and yelling about his intelligence had been a bonus, and he’d thanked Edward for such a pleasant ending to a pleasant night.)

As instructed, Edward put on his gas mask - personalised, too, with the mask coloured green and covered in tiny purple question marks - ten minutes before the clock had struck eleven. After putting Bernie in the protective container Jonathan had made for her, he settled down in the living room to start a good book, choosing to spend this time in his pyjamas for top relaxation.

It wasn’t ten minutes into his reading that he heard it: a long, loud and high-pitched shriek, recognised as a firework being shot into the sky.

While anyone else might’ve simply suspected it to be an average Halloween celebration in Gotham, Edward knew better, and he scrambled from his place on the couch to go to the glass sliding door that led to their garden, pressing his palms to it as he looked out. He looked up, saw the explosion as the rocket burst, and watched as fear toxin billowed out over Gotham, dropping a cloud of opaque orange over everybody’s heads.

He watched the cloud grow and stay in the air, covering he and Jonathan’s garden until there was nothing Edward could see but gentle wisps of orange licking the air, then he heard the beginnings of screaming in the distance. He sighed in content that Jonathan’s schemes had worked.

Edward heard another rocket get shot into the sky and he knew he had to find somewhere else to view it, since the gas cloud was too thick.

In the distance, there was an explosion, then a thundering sound erupted from the same area, and Edward’s pace quickened.

After mentally testing the view from several windows throughout the house and knowing they wouldn’t work, that somewhere ended up being the roof. He’d hesitated to open the hatch before deciding to put his trust in his partner; Jonathan had never said to stay inside, so Edward had to believe that the toxin couldn’t be absorbed through the skin. If Jonathan had just neglected to tell Edward that, then it would be his fault if he came home to find that Edward had fallen off the roof during his hallucinations.

The first few steps were wary, then Edward realised he was perfectly fine up there, with his gas mask. He looked down at the street to see it covered in orange, not a single person nor vehicle visible through the spray, then he looked out to try and see what had become of that rocket. He’d heard the explosion, so it had already gone off, but what delights had Jonathan packed into this one?

Across the bridge, dark clouds hung over the city, and those clouds were currently raining dark orange fear toxin, made into unwilling and unexpected partners in the Scarecrow’s schemes. It was a damn good thing they didn’t live on Miagani Island.

Edward’s eyes widened at the shower, the pelting rain and terrified screaming audible from where he stood. He wondered exactly when Jonathan had figured out how to make the clouds rain fear toxin, then he laughed and clapped for his beloved.

A third rocket went off, shrieking into Gotham’s skies, and Edward ran back inside to get a pair of binoculars just as the explosion went off. On his way there and back, he realised the explosion had come from Founders Island and he promptly pointed his binoculars in that direction as soon as he returned to the roof.

Behind the toxin rain over Miagani Island, there appeared to be blobs of orange falling from the sky and sticking to the ground and buildings below; Edward realised what Jonathan had made for this one, and it made his eyes wide again. While the attack over their way had been based off of clouds, and Miagani’s attack was rain, the foamy blots falling over Founders Island were based off of snow.

_A weather theme,_ Edward thought in awe, then he grinned under his mask. _Jon,_ _why didn’t you tell me you were going with a theme this year?!_

(Of course, he knew why: the Scarecrow’s Halloween was intended to be a surprise for the whole of Gotham, Edward included. For him, though, it was a nice surprise, now that he and Jonathan were on the same side.)

A fourth rocket went off, and Edward watched as it collided with a Stagg Enterprises airship floating above Bleake Island. Even Edward flinched as the airship’s metal frame groaned loudly when the structure was forced to tilt; the rocket had broken through a window in the airship’s side, shot through the inside and broken out through the window opposite, exploding midair when the task was finished. From those windows, capsules began to fall out and down upon the citizens of Bleake Island.

Edward squinted at them, then chuckled when he realised what they were: small fear toxin bombs.

It took but a moment to realise this one was based off of hail.

The final rocket went off behind him, and Edward turned around to watch as New Gotham was covered in fear toxin so bright and so blinding in colour and effect as it reacted with the oxygen in the air that Edward had to turn his binoculars away immediately. He dropped them and shielded his face with a hand, blinking rapidly to try and take the hurt out of his eyes, then he squinted through his fingers.

_Sunlight,_ Edward thought to himself, having no doubt that all of New Gotham’s population was blinded by now. From that alone, they were no doubt terrified; their added hallucinations, Edward reasoned, must have been auditory, gustatory, olfactory and tactile.

Edward slowly spun in a circle as he observed the weather-themed toxin attack his lover had created single-handedly; Gotham was screaming and flooded with orange, from the snow-like foam blots covering the entirety of Founders Island, to the tiny bombs setting off fear gas all over Bleake Island, from the rain pounding down upon Miagani Island, to the cloud settling over the roads of Old Gotham down below him and the blinding light that had hidden New Gotham in a dome-like, gaseous structure.

Edward didn’t think he’d ever feel so happy to see fear toxin in action, not even when Jonathan had targeted people who had wronged them; regardless of what he’d thought of Jonathan’s drug in the past, in that moment, he could only think of it as absolutely beautiful.

He felt a surge of affection and pride for Jonathan Crane. If Jonathan had been on that rooftop with him, Edward would have made love to him. He almost imagined them kissing in the fear toxin rain, but Edward would have never made it out of that without being affected; the same went for trying to imagine he and Jonathan making love in the toxin snow.

_So, this is what it’s like,_ Edward thought as he observed the orange enveloping Gotham City, _to be on the winning side of these Halloween onslaughts…_

Here he was, safe and sound upon his rooftop, with his gas mask and no chance of toxin seeping into his skin, while the rest of Gotham suffered and screamed below him. And why was that? Because he had gained Jonathan Crane’s love.

If Edward and Jonathan were at all the sentimental sort, Edward might’ve theorised Jonathan had purposely used the toxin least likely to affect Edward on their neighbourhood.

Edward sighed happily. _That’s my Jonathan._

He was still wearing the mask hours later as he sat against the headboard of he and Jonathan’s bed, nursing a good book, warm and comforted in his silk pyjama set, with the duvet pulled over his lap, while the rest of Gotham was screaming for mercy from their hallucinations. He’d spent the time between watching Jonathan’s work and getting into bed soundproofing the windows of he and Jonathan’s bedroom so he could get a goodnight’s sleep; it was almost funny to sit there in the silence, knowing that one gap in the protective panelling would let in the terrified screeching from the Gotham public. He and Jonathan would be the only ones sleeping well tonight.

For all intents and purposes, with his glasses on the bedside table and his hair gel-free, he was ready to go to sleep, but he elected to stay up to finish the novel he’d been reading earlier.

Was he sitting there with the wonder of whether or not his partner was returning home to him this evening instead of being dragged off to Arkham? Perhaps. But it was the novel keeping him awake, the need to finish it and get to the ending making him fidget whenever he tried to lay down to go to sleep, not Jonathan’s absence. He’d gotten used to how cold the sheets had become on Jonathan’s side of the bed.

Besides, he and Jonathan were certainly not the sentimental type. Obviously.

If Edward were to pay attention, the clock on his bedside table would tell him it was nearing three o’clock in the morning.

It was just getting to a good - though entirely predictable - part when he heard a door being unlocked downstairs.

Edward lifted his head and looked toward the bedroom door, ears straining to listen as the door downstairs was locked again, then footsteps made their way through the living room and up the stairs.

The hair on Edward’s arms stood on end and he reminded himself of the gun he kept in the second drawer of his bedside table, just for nights like this, where Edward didn’t know who would return home to him: Jonathan or Scarecrow.

_(Scarecrow_ was invited to Halloween schemes; Halloween was practically he and Jonathan’s Guys’ Night Out. No Riddlers allowed.)

He had installed a new security system that scanned Jonathan’s face to determine if he was Crane or Crow, and the cameras in the house would keep a close eye on him just in case, but Edward wouldn’t put it passed Scarecrow to take control the second Jonathan got into bed beside him. Precautions had to be made, and thus the pistol had found its way into Edward’s drawer, alongside a supply of Jonathan’s medicine, to be taken before Jonathan slept beside him tonight.

As the footsteps approached the bedroom door, Edward’s left hand slid from his book and drifted down to the drawer, the pads of his fingers touching the knob, ready to pull the drawer open and snatch the gun from inside.

The door opened and his partner came sluggishly into the room, briefly unidentifiable due to the disguise he wore to blend in with Gotham’s public: the classic trench coat and fedora combination that would have set off alarm bells in any other city, but blended right in in Gotham. Edward also noticed, under the hat, Jonathan had covered his scars and dyed his hair black, and he briefly had flashbacks to their first date, when Jonathan had put in his blue contacts and dyed his hair the colour of a crow’s feathers and covered the scars on his face with makeup.

Edward watched him closely; due to the dim lighting of the room, the angle from where he sat and Jonathan’s closed eyes, he couldn’t see the telltale signs of Scarecrow’s presence - namely the shrunken pupils - and so he kept his gun plan on standby.

“Jon…?” Edward called carefully.

“Mm.”

Edward immediately relaxed, hand falling.

He and Jonathan had been together for nearly two years; he was well-versed in the language Jonathan conversed in when he was exhausted. His gradually lowering head, furrowed brow and closed eyes weren’t any sign that Scarecrow was around, but was the body language of a very sleepy Jonathan Crane.

Edward let out a little sigh, shutting his eyes as he relaxed, then he looked back to his boyfriend, smiling behind the mask.

_“There’s_ my Halloween heathen,” he chirped. “Everything went to plan then, dear?”

Jonathan didn’t open his eyes, but he did smile as he turned his back to Edward to sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Mm.”

“Good, good. And you’re sure you weren’t followed? Because I _will_ kill you if you’ve led Batman or any of his children back to our house.”

“Mm.” Jonathan waved a hand in a general direction to tell Edward that Batman and Robin were off dealing with the aftermath of his Halloween schemes, he’d gotten away, so Edward didn’t need to worry about Batman turning up tonight.

Edward would have felt better about his safety if Jonathan had stayed the night at one of his hideouts to ensure that in the event of Batman kicking down the door, at least Edward wouldn’t be accused of anything. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad about Jonathan’s spot of poor planning, however.

“Alright,” Edward said warily, “I’ll choose to trust you on that. Just know that that trust is as thin as butter on toast, and I meant it when I said I’ll kill you if he turns up.”

“Mm.”

“And you’re _also_ sure that your clothing has no traces of toxin on them? Because I find it hard to believe you were in Old Gotham the entire night, you _must’ve_ been doused in some of it.”

“Mm,” Jonathan replied, waving a hand over his own head lazily.

Edward translated this as Jonathan saying he’d been in his costume while on Founders and Miagani, and he’d taken a shower and changed his clothes once he got into Old Gotham on his way home, leaving his toxin-soaked costume at one of his hideouts for him to collect later. There was a chance of trace amounts of their neighbourhood’s toxin on his coat, but this formula wasn’t absorbed through the skin like the others, so Edward would be fine either way.

“Alright,” Edward said, “I’ll choose to trust you on that as well, then.”

“Mm…”

“Oh, speaking of which,” Edward put a hand to his chest and faked worry, “you should have seen the _chaos_ out there, Jon. Some massive storm suddenly swallowed up all of Gotham! It was so _scary.”_

He didn’t need to see Jonathan’s face to know he was smiling widely; he could hear him chuckling softly.

_“Mm.”_

Edward chortled, grinning beneath his mask, and reached out to put a hand to Jonathan’s back. “I saw everything, darling. Went up to the roof to watch. I can’t believe I’m saying this about your obsession, but it was gorgeous. You must show me your formulas and blueprints later.”

_“Mmm-mm.”_

Edward chuckled, then cocked his head, furrowing his brow. The hand that had been on Jonathan’s back went to his mask. “Speaking of which, can I take this off now?”

Jonathan reached to take off his hat, throwing it toward his closet door and missing by a mile. He shook his head gravely. _“Mmmm.”_

Edward sighed. “So I’ll have to sleep with it on, then. Great.”

“Mm.”

“Well, no, of course I don’t want to be infected. I’m just saying, it’s inconvenient.”

“Mm.”

Jonathan put his hands to his lapels to take off his coat, only for his hands to freeze where they were, then fall to his lap. His head began to dip forward, chin touching his collarbone, and Edward quickly reached over and shook him before he could fall forward and off of the bed.

“Jonathan.”

“Mm.” Jonathan lifted his head again, at such a force that he almost threw himself backwards.

Edward took his hand back. “You need to remove your disguise before you sleep.”

_“Mm.”_

“I don’t care. You use the cheap stuff for your hair; it’ll probably stain my nice pillows. Your concealer definitely will. And if you’re wearing your contacts again, you need to take them out before you sleep. They’ll hurt your eyes.”

_“Mmmmm.”_

“Then don’t act like one.” Edward reached over and patted his back to keep him awake. “Come on, dear. The quicker it’s done, the quicker you can go to sleep.”

_“Mm.”_

As annoyed as he’d sounded, Jonathan had the decency to listen; he pushed himself up from the mattress, stumbled forward and swayed in place, then he dragged himself back out of the bedroom.

Edward watched him vigilantly, then called out, “Call if you need help.”

Then he tilted his head and listened carefully to Jonathan’s movements in the bathroom.

Christ knew, if he left Jonathan to his own devices, he’d later go in to find Jonathan unconscious on the floor, either from falling asleep or hitting his head on the sink or something.

He heard Jonathan’s footsteps, heard the soft tap of his plastic contact lenses case as he set it down to change his eyes back to brown, heard him complain loudly in his humming language when he sprayed water over his head and it came out too cold (that got a chortle out of Edward), heard the rustling of a towel as Jonathan dried his hair, then he heard Jonathan approaching their bedroom again.

Jonathan stepped in, coat folded over his arm, hair back to its greying ginger, and the contact lenses case clutched loosely in his other hand. He placed the case down on his bedside table, then dumped his coat down on the floor.

Edward usually would’ve scolded him for that, but he supposed he could make an exception for tonight; Jonathan was exhausted and probably wouldn’t listen anyway, and he didn’t particularly want to start their first night reunited in a foul mood.

“Oh, my,” Edward said as he looked to Jonathan’s face, still lightly scrunched up in exhaustion. Namely, he was eyeing the purpling bruise on Jonathan’s right cheek, large and round, a slight lump on his face.

Edward would know that kind of mark anywhere.

_“Hm._ Riddle me this and riddle me that,” Edward said dryly, “did we get punched by the big, black Bat?”

Swaying lightly in place, Jonathan’s brow furrowed more and he raised a hand to gently touch the wound, but he flinched away as the pads of his fingers brushed it.

_“Mm…”_

“Poor thing. You might want to ice that, it’s already begun to swell up.”

“Mm…”

Without his coat, Jonathan was left in his waistcoat ensemble, and Edward had to chew his lip and rub his thighs together to stop himself from getting excited. Trust Jonathan to wear clothing that made Edward tingly in all the right places. He had yet to discover Edward’s liking for formal clothing on him, mostly due to the fact that Jonathan rarely wore such things in Edward’s presence; if Jonathan weren’t so exhausted, he likely would have found out about the formal kink.

Alas, Edward had to deal with no sex for just a bit longer.

_(Torture.)_

To distract himself, and to stop Jonathan from drifting off again, Edward cleared his throat and said quickly, “Bernie is safe and sound downstairs, by the way. In perfect health and awaiting her father’s presence.”

One brown eye opened at that and, for a second, Jonathan actually seemed more alert, like an animal with its ears pricked (because of course, _Bernie_ got Jonathan’s attention), then Jonathan smiled widely and shut his eye again as he nodded.

“Mm,” he said warmly as he dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed again.

“…Of course, she does love _me_ more now. You know. Because I took care of her and didn’t abandon her for two months.”

He didn’t need to see Jonathan’s face to know he was frowning darkly now, especially not when Jonathan reached back and smacked Edward on the leg, warning him not to joke about such things.

If Edward were any other person, he might’ve gotten worse, but not only was he the beloved, but he had been the one to care for Bernie since Jonathan had started leaving to tend to his Halloween plans, and both of those roles deserved some privileges.

He hadn’t voiced it to Jonathan (and he doubted he ever would, for the sake of dignity), but it had honestly meant a great deal to him when Jonathan had requested he care for Bernie; most people weren’t even allowed to breathe near her, let alone be left with her for two months, save for the brief times Jonathan turned up to collect something or get something to eat. Edward still wasn’t trusted with the fear toxin, but he was trusted with Jonathan’s mouse, and that was something.

Jonathan had gotten as far as removing his waistcoat when he started to droop again, and Edward poked him in the back with his foot to wake him up.

“Jon, you’re not done.”

_“Mm.”_

“Come on, you need to finish.”

“Mmm…”

Jonathan laid back on the bed, lifting his hips to the best of his ability in order to unbuckle his belt and tug his trousers off.

Edward smiled in amusement under his mask as he watched him wiggle around trying to get his trousers off, kicking his legs in frustration when they wouldn’t leave his thighs due to the button and zip still being fastened and closed.

At one point, Jonathan got too comfortable laying on his back and started to drift off again, prompting Edward to lean forward, poke his cheek and politely ask him to remove his head from Edward’s knees.

_“Aw,”_ he mock-cooed as Jonathan went back to wiggling out of his trousers, “have we tuckered ourselves out?”

_“Mm.”_

“I’m not teasing, I’m observing.”

_“Mmm.”_

“Yes, I am.” Edward wished Jonathan could see the shit-eating smile on his face right now. “You’re adorable when you’re tired.”

_“Mmmmm.”_

“But you are! It’s not my fault.”

Jonathan puffed out a sigh.

When he finally got his trousers off and onto the floor, Jonathan had to grab a fistful of the duvet to pull himself back into a sitting position, then he untied his tie and threw it down with the rest of his clothes, which only left him in his shirt, socks and boxers.

Edward had to wake him up again when he’d begun to droop, and Jonathan finally unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off to throw it down to the floor, leaving him in only his underwear.

Edward’s lips pressed together under his mask; Jonathan’s back had three large bruises scattered across it, of similar size and shape to the one inflating his cheek. He had no doubt Jonathan probably had another couple on his chest.

Edward recognised those marks too. He hadn’t known Nightwing was in town.

“Hang on,” Edward slid his bookmark into his book and set it down, “before you get comfortable.”

“Mmm…” This came out as a near-whine, and Edward didn’t know whether to find it cute or annoying.

“You need to take your medicine before you sleep,” Edward said, reaching for the drawer where he kept Jonathan’s medication.

_“Mmmmm.”_

“I don’t care if you want to or not. I don’t want to wake up in the night to find him strangling me - because you _know_ he will. He always has to aim for the neck…” Edward looked away in spiteful remembrance, then shook his head. “No, you need to take this. And neither of us are sleeping until you do, tradition be damned.”

Jonathan’s face creased up in a frown. Clearly, the prospect of being rid of Scarecrow at all while their Halloween schemes were still torturing Gotham didn’t sit well with him, but he needed the sleep.

Besides, Edward did have a point. Scarecrow hadn’t the chance to do anything last year, what with Edward having been infected with the toxin fumes set off around Gotham and Jonathan being so thrilled to see him scared, but now would be a prime opportunity for Scarecrow to grab for Edward’s throat while Jonathan was in deep slumber.

As much as Jonathan wanted Scarecrow around as he drifted off to sleep, if only because it was Halloween, he’d have hated to wake up to find Edward dead even more, and so only a disappointed sigh left him.

“I have both pill and liquid forms. You pick.”

Jonathan was still for a moment, then he grunted and tapped his forearm with two fingers.

Edward nodded and opened the drawer, locating the vial of deep blue liquid, a syringe and a new needle to use. He prepped the needle, then picked up the vial, unscrewed the cap and stuck the needle through the film covering the top. He tipped it upside-down, only to look over as Jonathan whined softly.

Jonathan was rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm, and Edward felt his blood run cold: _someone_ wasn’t happy with what Edward was doing.

Edward swallowed thickly, shut his eyes to mentally scold himself and remind himself of how unfrightened of Scarecrow he was, then opened his eyes and pulled back the syringe’s plunger to suck in some of the liquid.

He tested the syringe - pointed it in a random direction and squirted some of the drug into the air - then he turned back to Jonathan and patted his back. “Jon, give me your arm.”

Jonathan didn’t respond.

“Jon.” He patted his back again.

No response.

Edward felt his blood run cold again. He swallowed thickly, took in a deep breath, and tried to remind himself that he hadn’t heard Jonathan do the same, which tended to be the audio cue that Scarecrow had taken control.

Then again…he wasn’t always known to be loud about it…

Edward transferred the syringe to his right hand in order to reach for his drawer with his left, sliding it open slowly and reaching inside, the pads of his fingers tracing the butt of the pistol.

“…Jon…?” Edward said again, using his foot to push Jonathan’s back this time.

Jonathan wobbled at the force, flinched, then lifted his head. “Mmm?”

Edward sighed in relief, scowled and quietly cursed himself for his weakness, then he slammed the drawer shut and took the syringe into his left hand again.

“Give me your arm, dear,” Edward said strictly.

Jonathan sniffed, then turned enough to stretch out his right arm, offering it to him.

Edward took it, located a vein, then pushed the needle into Jonathan’s skin and injected the full amount of medication into his bloodstream. He pulled the needle out, then leaned over and took a tissue from the box on Jonathan’s bedside table and balled it up, pressing it to the puncture wound to absorb the bead of blood pushing itself up.

“Hold that there,” he said as he turned away to deal with the needle, disposing of it in the bin and putting the syringe and vial back into the drawer. He shut it, then turned back to Jonathan, who was still holding the tissue to his wound, just as instructed.

“What a good little patient you are.” Edward cocked his head. “I’m afraid I have no lollipops to offer you, though. Must’ve given my last to Echo.”

“Mm,” was - predictably - Jonathan’s only response to Edward’s joke.

“Your reward can be sleep. Go on, lay down, you’ve earned it.”

Jonathan immediately threw himself sideways, face-planting directly onto his pillow.

“…Well, do it _properly._ You’ll ruin your back.”

_“Mmm,”_ came from within the pillow.

“I am not acting like your mother. You don’t _have_ a mother. Presumably.”

_“Mmmm.”_

“Well, how should I know? You never tell me anything.”

_“Mmmmm.”_

“Oh, be quiet. I _do_ know everything - everything that’s important, anyway.” Edward shrugged, then added sarcastically, “I’ve always imagined you just arose from the depths of some lake in Georgia one day (fully-grown, of course, I can’t imagine you as a child) and a local happened to stumble across you whilst on a fishing trip. Miraculously, you turned out to be human, though I still have my doubts. Scarecrow is a part of an elaborate theory about a curse, but I’ll save that for when you’re coherent.”

_“Mmm.”_

“…No, but seriously, at least get under the covers. You’re pushing them off of me, and I get cold.”

Jonathan huffed into his pillow and pulled his legs up, then pushed his socked feet under the duvet, his face still buried. The tissue was forgotten, crushed under him, and Edward could only hope there was no blood on his sheets.

“Much obliged,” Edward said dryly, reaching for his abandoned book.

He slid the bookmark out and went to resume reading, but only got two words in before he decided his novel was no longer interesting and automatically slid his bookmark back into place between the pages. He put the novel on his bedside table and adjusted his pillows so he could comfortably lay down.

He would’ve wanted to shuffle over to cuddle with Jonathan, hopefully convince him to roll onto his back so that Edward could rest his head on his chest, like normal. Unfortunately, the gas mask would make any cuddling uncomfortable - either the filters would jab Jonathan in the sternum or the mask would push against Edward’s face too much to put up with for a night - and so Edward had to be content with remaining on his side of the bed.

With a small sigh, Edward shuffled to get comfortable, then cocked his head toward Jonathan to mutter, “Goodnight, dear. I love you.”

Jonathan didn’t reply, and Edward assumed him asleep, so thought it best to simply descend into the land of dreams with him. He shut his eyes peacefully, feeling drowsiness set into his bones, confident that he could very easily drift off into calm slumber.

It wasn’t ten seconds into his attempt that a weight suddenly crashed down upon Edward’s chest, causing him to involuntarily jolt.

_“Oh!”_ Edward exclaimed from within his mask and scrambled to look, only to pause.

Jonathan had thrown his upper body upon his lover, head now resting over Edward’s ribcage, ear over his heart, while his arm lay haphazardly over Edward’s own, his hand now dangling off the mattress. Beneath the duvet, Jonathan’s right leg had been tossed over Edward’s ankle.

Jonathan said nothing, though a puffy noise did leave his nose, and Edward recognised that as a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle.

Edward stared at him in silence; if he was soft enough to believe such a thing could happen, he would have said Jonathan was melting his heart, so voluntarily laying upon him, initiating the cuddle instead of just waiting for Edward to do so, and - most importantly - looking so, so peaceful listening to Edward’s heartbeat.

Beneath his mask, Edward’s lips turned up in a soft smile, brow furrowing as his emotions became a flurry in his chest, and he raised a hand to card his fingers through Jonathan’s hair, gently massaging his scalp in that way that he knew Jonathan secretly enjoyed.

“One last fright for the night, hm? For shame, Jon. And to think…I _waited_ for you these past two months.”

“Mm,” was Jonathan’s only reply to Edward’s honesty.

Edward chortled and dug his fingers into Jonathan’s hair with a little more pressure, which made Jonathan sigh through his nose.

“I missed you too, dear,” Edward admitted softly to him, and Jonathan’s arm began to bend in order to touch Edward’s shoulder, properly hugging him then, but it gave up halfway through and continued to hang off the bed.

Edward smiled at the attempt, then tapped out the word ‘kiss’ in Morse code against Jonathan’s temple with two fingers.

Jonathan didn’t respond, but he did begin to snore, and so Edward simply wrapped his arms around him and settled in to sleep, which would prove to be much more peaceful with Jonathan curled up against him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The months of September and October were lonely for Edward Nygma. The last night of October made the wait for Jonathan to come home to him just a bit easier. 
> 
> (The first day of November, however, he could have done without…Maybe.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, nameless citizen, Peter McElroy, Bernie, Harvey Dent, Oswald Cobblepot, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn; mentioned Batman, Vicki Vale, Jack Ryder, Commissioner Gordon, the Joker.
> 
> Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma.
> 
> Warnings: possession of firearm; mention of drug use, suicide, car accidents, drowning, firearm usage, murder, sexual themes.
> 
> Notes: No terrifying Halloween fic for this year, just a sweet, shippy Halloween fic about Ed waiting for his man to come home.
> 
> A WanderVerse fic.
> 
> Chapter 2 of 3.
> 
> All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used).

Jonathan was still laying upon Edward’s chest when Edward woke up, snoring in his chainsaw-like way, and Edward could only manage to lay beneath him for a few minutes until he simply had to get up and go about his day.

He gently tapped Jonathan’s cheek to try and get him to move on his own accord, but Jonathan had done barely anything more than bat at Edward’s hand drowsily, so Edward had to resort to sliding a hand under him to lift him slightly, then dragging himself out from underneath him.

He pulled an Indiana Jones manoeuvre to keep Jonathan asleep: as quickly and as smoothly as he could, he grabbed his pillow, turned it sideways and laid it under Jonathan’s head before Jonathan could fully process Edward had left. The pillow was plump enough to act as a substitute for Edward’s chest, and his scent was still on it, so - in his sleep-filled mind - Jonathan was thoroughly fooled.

Edward slipped on his dressing gown, slippers and glasses, then put his hands to his mask to remove it, only to pause and look at Jonathan. He couldn’t wake him up to ask him if he could remove it because either Jonathan wouldn’t answer now that he was finally getting his sleep or he _would_ wake up and answer him, which would mean Edward would have to deal with a severely cranky Crane.

Edward looked over his shoulder toward the window, looked at Jonathan, then nodded to himself as he decided to follow his new plan of going to the roof to check for the toxin cloud again.

(Before he left the bedroom, however, he couldn’t help but huff and stoop to collect Jonathan’s clothing from the floor, holding each piece at arm’s length, pinched between his index finger and thumb as to avoid major contact, just in case Jonathan had been wrong about being clean of toxin.)

Despite finding protection in the gas mask, his first steps onto their roof were as wary as the night before. He popped out of the hatch and looked around.

On the bridge connecting Old Gotham and Miagani Island were road blocks, Edward could just about see, and he raised his eyebrows at the sight of them before he returned to gazing down at the street.

Batman had done a number on Jonathan’s schemes: the cloud of orange was gone from the streets, not even a wisp of it in the air, but Edward knew Jonathan’s toxin better than to assume it couldn’t still be infecting the oxygen, so he waited until he saw someone walking down the street.

It took twenty minutes before he saw a single person; he’d taken to standing near the very edge, bent over to peek at the streets below, green eyes darting back and forth between houses to try and find some sign that the toxin was gone.

The most he got from this sign that eventually appeared was a middle-aged woman in a dressing gown throwing open her front door, darting down her path to frantically check the mailbox (which took three tries; she couldn’t grip the latch in shaky hands) and then sprinting back into the house and shutting the door.

Edward blinked twice, then sighed and returned to his own home.

Honestly, he was kicking himself for not having some sort of scanner for this; he’d been living with Jonathan Crane for sixteen months, he should have invented something of the like by now. They’d installed a button in Jonathan’s office that would turn on a light on the wall outside to alert Edward that he was working with toxin and it would probably be best he not come in, but nothing to identify toxin in the air.

Edward put that on his To Do list.

Unable to suss it out that way, Edward turned to the next best thing in his arsenal: he turned on the television to the morning news report.

“…this is Peter McElroy, bringing to you the latest news in Gotham City,” said the news anchor in greeting. “Last night, Gotham was engulfed in the deadly chemical known as fear toxin, created and weaponized by the Scarecrow, aka ex-Gotham University professor and ex-Arkham Asylum psychiatrist, Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

“There’s a title,” Edward muttered dryly, eyebrows raised.

He tuned out for the majority of the report (McElroy had always had a very dull way of giving out the news; Edward preferred Vale, and anybody was better than Ryder) until McElroy finally reached the part he’d wanted to hear, and Edward turned the volume up two points.

“Information gathered from Commissioner James Gordon himself has confirmed that the Batman has successfully cleaned Bleake Island, Old Gotham and New Gotham of the fear toxin. However, while the storms of toxin on Miagani and Founders Islands have been stopped, the environments themselves will need to be cleaned in order to remove the leftover toxin, and so Commissioner Gordon is urging citizens to remain inside for today, and to only leave the house when absolutely necessary. If you must go outside, please do so while wearing protective clothing, and do _not_ allow any of the toxin to touch your skin.”

Edward’s shoulders fell slightly as tension left them. He was safe, then.

Sighing in relief, he reached up to remove his gas mask.

A waft of chilled air hit the lower portion of his face, finally some relief from the warm encompassment he’d had to endure the entire night, and he took an long, experimental breath in through his nose, then exhaled deeply through his mouth. He sighed as he dropped the mask to the coffee table and patted his cheeks. He could feel the indentions in them from where the mask had pressed.

_“Finally,”_ he said with another sigh.

Rather than going to the kitchen, which was usually his first destination after waking up in the morning, Edward turned around to go to the door to Jonathan’s study in the corner of the room. He opened the door, switched on the light and descended the stairs.

“Good morning, Bernie, dear,” he called to the transparent box on Jonathan’s desk.

Bernie’s actual cage was empty of any and all rodents; Edward had found a note attached to it the same morning he’d found his own gas mask. Jonathan had instructed him to put Bernie in the box on his desk, a special container that had a filter built in, which would protect Bernie from the fear toxin just as Edward’s gas mask had protected him.

Edward had made sure to do so, lining it with some bedding, putting in a couple of toys for her to play with and her cardboard box nest for her to sleep in, alongside her food dish. He’d filled the built-in bottle with water for her to drink during the night.

From within it, he heard a soft rustling of the bedding, then out from the nest came the tiny, brown mouse that Jonathan called his pride and joy and treated like his baby. Where she would usually hide from Edward, Bernie approached the box’s wall and sniffed at the air in his direction.

“I’m pleased to say your father returned last night,” Edward said to her, “safe and sound, albeit a couple of bruises here and there. Everything went according to plan.” He smiled down at her. “Let him sleep it off, dear, and he’ll be back to see you.”

Edward stepped away to collect Bernie’s smaller cage from under the desk. “He’ll be so _excited…”_

He retrieved the cage - used to carry Bernie around safely, as her actual cage was too big - and went to the drawer that Jonathan kept mouse care supplies in. From there, he collected more bedding to line Bernie’s cage with, patting it down until Bernie would be comfortable walking on it, then he retrieved the rubber gloves and face mask (the latter of which, he’d put in the drawer for himself, since Jonathan could stand the smell of Bernie’s used bedding and Edward could not).

After putting both on, he opened the box and used a scooper from the drawer to take a small amount of bedding from within, so that Bernie would have a familiar scent to go to in her cage. He put the scooper away, then reached inside the box to collect Bernie’s things.

Bernie rushed toward his hand when he picked up her den, more out of fear of what he was doing than anger, but she didn’t stop Edward from lifting it out of the container. Her tail wagged once at him, and Edward had come to learn this meant she was annoyed.

“Now, now, settle down,” Edward said, “otherwise you won’t get to sit in the kitchen with me for breakfast.”

Bernie’s response was to mouth at her tiny paws and swipe behind her ears, then she directed her licks to her back leg.

“That’s right. You clean yourself up before you eat.” Edward reached into the box to collect her toys: her wheel, a tube and some cardboard she liked to chew on. “I can’t believe _you_ have more manners than Jon. Then again, you _are_ a _proper_ lady, aren’t you, Bernie?”

Bernie’s nose twitched at him.

“Yes, I think so, too.” Edward finished putting her things in her carrying cage, then went to the box and slotted his hand inside. “Come on, then, time to go.”

Bernie scurried toward his hand, stopped to sniff at her bedding (“If you’re going to do your business,” Edward said, “please, do it before I pick you up.”), then wiped at her ears and sniffed his finger.

Edward put his fingertips to the base of her tail to test if she was comfortable with him holding her, then used that hand to gently grasp her rump and begin to lift. As he did, he slotted his other hand under her, then used the hand he’d grabbed her with to cup her back and make sure she didn’t fall.

Slowly, he transferred her to her other cage.

Bernie immediately went to her water bottle, trying to drink some, only for Edward to scoff and shake his head.

“I haven’t filled that up yet,” he said. “Have patience, dear.”

Defeated, Bernie scurried away from her bottle and over to her box nest instead, disappearing inside to curl up, and Edward scoffed again and shook his head.

He removed his gloves and mask and shut the top of Bernie’s cage, then picked it up by its handle, collected a bag of food from the supply drawer, and carried both items out of Jonathan’s basement office, flicking off the light as he did so.

He ventured into the kitchen next, where he placed Bernie’s cage on the counter, next to the sink.

Usually, Bernie’s cage - let alone Bernie herself - would never be allowed near his kitchen, but Edward had had to make an exception over the last two months since Jonathan had been very, very serious about him keeping an eye on her. Where Edward went, Bernie had had to go; he’d even brought her with him to address his henchmen, who had only raised eyebrows at her, as Edward had made it very clear to leave her alone.

She was, however, only allowed on that one section of the counter where no food would go, right by the sink.

Edward removed the bottle from the side of the cage, filled it with water, then snapped it back into place, nodding once when Bernie came out of her den and put her tiny mouth to the drip, swallowing down a decent amount of water.

As she did so, Edward opened her cage again, then reached into the bag of food and took out a handful of dried banana and peach chips. He poured them into her bowl, then closed her cage, just as Bernie raced over to eat.

“Bon appétit, petite souris,” Edward said as Bernie took a chip between her paws and chowed down.

Edward washed his hands, then pondered his own breakfast.

Getting an idea, he turned back to Bernie. “I think Mr. Nygma deserves a treat for all his hard work these past two months, doesn’t he, Bernie? I think he should treat himself to some French toast. Does that sound right to you, Bernie?”

Bernie was still gnawing through a banana chip, but her ears were perked, and Edward took that as a sign she’d listened.

“Yes, so do I. I appreciate your input, dear.”

Bernie moved onto a peach chip.

Edward kept an eye on her as he made his own breakfast. She was only a little thing, so she didn’t finish her entire meal, but Edward expected her to return to it sooner than she was ready. Bernie was a gluttonous creature, always wanting more than she had, but Edward blamed that more on her wild origins than on her.

He chatted to her as he made his French toast; he’d once made fun of Jonathan for talking to her like she could respond and had expressed concerned exasperation at seeing that Jonathan had not only named her, but had gotten attached to her. Now that he’d spent two months with her, he got it. He dared to say he enjoyed chewing the fat with her.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” Edward said as he poked at his cooking French toast with a spatula, side-eyeing the scraps of banana and peach chips by Bernie’s bowl. “You’d best clean that up before your father wakes up or he’ll - Oh, who am I kidding, he won’t care.”

Edward finished preparing his toast and plated it, added some fresh raspberries and blueberries to the dish, then made himself a cup of green tea to go along with it. He set both the mug and the plate down on the dining table, collected utensils, then took a seat. He took two napkins from the offered holder in the centre of the table, unfolded both and laid one over his lap, then tucked the other into the collar of his pyjama shirt to protect his chest.

He grabbed for his knife and fork and cut off a corner of one slice of French toast, licking his lips in anticipation.

“Bon appétit,” Edward said, then shut his eyes and lifted the fork to his mouth.

His hand froze when a sudden banging cut through the calmness of the morning, and Edward opened his eyes, mouth still hanging open, while Bernie squeaked loudly and hurried to hide in her nest.

He came out of his stillness, frowning and raising an eyebrow at the wall to his left, behind which was the hall that led to the front door, where the banging was still coming from.

Edward listened to it for a few seconds more in hopes that it would stop; when it didn’t, he huffed angrily and snatched the napkins from his person, throwing them down to the table before pushing his chair back and rising from it.

“Have no fear, Bernie,” Edward said as he walked passed her cage, “I’ll see to that.”

Edward stepped out of the kitchen and moved quickly down the hall toward the door, praying that the banging hadn’t woken Jonathan up. If it had, there’d be hell to pay, from both occupants of this household.

Edward threw open the door and didn’t even get a chance to scowl at the interruption to his morning.

“Where is he?” Harvey Dent barked immediately, doing the scowling for Edward as he dropped his arm from where he’d been pounding his fist against the door.

Edward’s expression turned deadpanned and uninterested.

“And a good morning to you too, Dent,” Edward said dryly.

“Where is he, Nygma? We know he’s here, we’ve checked everywhere else!” Harvey went on, not even bothering with Edward’s attitude.

Edward raised both eyebrows, unimpressed, and put one hand to his hip, the other still holding the door. “And who might _‘we’_ be speaking of here?”

“You know who! _Crane!_ We know he’s here, Nygma, and we have a fucking score to settle with him.”

Edward looked Harvey up and down. While Harvey’s scarred side did always look messy and unkempt, Edward had to say, his clean side wasn’t…well, looking very clean.

His suit was rumpled and torn, hanging off his limbs in shreds; his normally gelled hair was sticking up at odd angles, obviously pulled out of place, blending in with the messy hair of his scarred side, and he had fresh gashes on the shaved part of his head and on his cheek that had both been bleeding recently, leaving trails of brownish-red down behind Harvey’s ear and to his jaw. If anything, Harvey didn’t look very half-and-half right now, and Edward imagined that must’ve made him feel…itchy.

“And what has Jon done to warrant a visit, Harvey?” Edward cocked his head. “I thought you’d forgotten where we live, so this must be something important.”

Harvey’s scowl deepened at Edward’s sarcasm. “The crap he pulled last night - he sucked us into it, the son of a bitch! We had a fuckin’ trade going on down at the docks, and _that_ bastard set off his fucking toxin and had all of us keeling over! Seven of our men - _dead!_ One stabbed his own fucking eyes out, one ran off and got hit by a fuckin’ semi, another ate his gun, two of ‘em killed each other and the other two jumped straight into the water! And to top it all off, we lost the fuckin’ _trade!_ All because of _Crane.”_ His gaze darkened. “Now, let us in so we can _talk to him.”_

Edward pursed his lips as he looked Harvey up and down again. He didn’t need to ask to know Harvey had his guns with him, and that Jonathan’s brains would be blown over their bed if he did give Harvey what he wanted.

Instead of doing that then, Edward faked a gasp, his hand flying from his hip to his chest. “What’s _this?”_ He turned his head and projected toward the stairs. “You were committing a _crime_ on _Halloween night?!”_

The unscarred side of Harvey’s face paled, his scowl faltering.

_“You - Two-Face_ \- were _out_ on the most important night of the year for _Jonathan_ _Crane?!_ How positively _blasphemous!”_

“Shut up!” Harvey hissed, eyeing the staircase nervously. He waved a hand to motion to Edward to stop.

Edward’s expression turned passive, but he kept his head turned, in case he needed to continue calling to his partner. For once, Edward actually hoped Jonathan was awake to hear this, if only because Harvey would leg it the second Jonathan came into view, no doubt with a sickle in hand and murder in his eyes.

“It wasn’t a crime,” Harvey said hastily, “it was business.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Business that the Bat would approve of?”

“…Probably not.”

“Hm. Sounds like a crime to me. So, I repeat: _you - Two-Face_ \- were _out_ _committing a crime on Halloween ni -”_

A gun was shoved under his chin, slamming his bottom set of teeth into his top set, shutting Edward’s mouth for him.

“It. Wasn’t. A crime,” Harvey repeated through gritted teeth. “Just because the Bat wouldn’t approve doesn’t make it illegal. It was just talking, so pipe the hell down, Nygma!”

Edward stared at Harvey in displeasure, nose wrinkling at him, then he pointedly pulled his head away from the lip of the gun and rubbed his chin with one hand as he replied, “If you want to see Jon so badly, that would’ve called him down. I’m not sure what you want me to do from here, Harvey.”

“Get Crane. Now.”

“No.” Edward put his hand back to his hip, puffing out his chest. “Jon is sleeping right now. He’s exhausted from last night -”

Harvey scoffed and pointed at the direction of the stairs. _“He’s_ exhausted?! We’re the ones who were gagging on _toxin_ the entire night!”

“And _he_ was the one who was running from the Bat and his children,” Edward said forcefully. “Not to mention carrying out his schemes as well. He was dead on his feet when he finally came home last night. He’s tired and definitely not in the mood to entertain you.” He cocked his head and added sweetly, “But if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll be sure he gets it.”

Harvey growled angrily, lip curling in disgust at him. “We don’t have time for this bullshit.”

He shoved Edward aside with one hand, causing him to stumble and yelp out, _“Hey!”_

Harvey stomped over the threshold, but the second his foot touched the floor of Edward and Jonathan’s home, there was a whirring noise and the section of the ceiling above Edward’s head opened to reveal a large gun, which looked like something dragged out of a sci-fi movie. It pointed at Harvey immediately.

Harvey froze and stared up at it, face contorting in shock, and Edward immediately held a finger to the screen attached to the wall beside him, which lit up blue as he touched it.

There was silence between them for a few moments, then Edward cocked his head.

“Careful,” he said tersely, “two seconds more, and that would’ve blown your head off.”

Harvey chewed his lip, then huffed through his nose and pushed his gun back into its holster as he stepped backwards and out of the house.

The gun followed his movement.

Edward shook his head. “I haven’t marked you in as a guest.” He gestured to the screen, which he turned his head to as he swiped his finger upwards.

The gun above him folded inwards as it slid up into the ceiling again, the panel sliding shut as soon as the weapon had disappeared.

“And I’m not going to,” Edward added, hands on his hips. “As you can see, I’m not dressed to entertain company right now nor am I in the mood to, and not only have you been very rude to me, but you also frightened Bernie. You’d better hope I don’t mention _that_ to Jon either, otherwise he really _will_ have your head.” He huffed. “Jon is _asleep,_ Harvey, and he will remain so until he’s ready to awaken. So,” he clapped his hands twice, then shooed at Harvey, _“vamoose!”_

Harvey growled again, baring his teeth at Edward, and then he opened his mouth to speak, only to pause when he heard the purr of an engine come to a halt behind him.

Both men looked over at the black limousine that had parked up in front of the house, sleek and shiny, adorning a small penguin ornament on its hood.

A man stepped out from the driver’s seat and hurried over to the back door, which he pulled open, then he held out a hand in offering.

An arm extended out from within the limousine and a gloved hand took the driver’s, then Oswald Cobblepot dragged himself out from his car, umbrella clutched tightly in his other hand. When he was standing on his own two feet on the pavement, he waved his driver away and used the umbrella as a cane, hobbling toward Edward and Harvey as his driver disappeared back into the front of the car.

“Oh, _Oswald,”_ Edward groaned, brow furrowing as he pouted, “not you _too.”_

“Edward,” Oswald said sternly, climbing the short staircase to them, “I need to speak with Dr. Crane. Immediately.”

He came to a stop, suddenly realising Harvey was there, and he froze in place as he stared up at him, expression full of shock before it contorted into a rare one of sheepish surprise.

Harvey had watched him over his shoulder as he’d come toward them, expression quite neutral. Now that Oswald was looking at him, he cleared his throat and looked anywhere but him, chewing his lip on his clean side.

“Oswald,” Harvey said.

“Harvey,” Oswald replied.

They cleared their throats at the same time.

Edward raised an eyebrow at Harvey, then at Oswald, who only shook his head to get a hold of himself and looked back to Edward with a frown.

“Edward,” he said, his mission back in mind, “where is Dr. Crane? I need to speak with him this second, and I shan’t take no for an answer if he refuses.”

“He doesn’t need to, Oswald,” Edward replied, leaning against the door now, “because I will do so in his place.”

“What?”

“He’s asleep,” Harvey grumbled.

Oswald looked to him, then to Edward as he spluttered nonsense for a moment. “Well - wake him up!”

Edward scoffed out a laugh. “And have my head removed with the both of yours? I don’t _think_ so! I’ve told you before, Jon can be a _demon_ if you wake him up, and he’s in a very deep slumber right now. I’m sorry, Oswald, but whatever business you have with Jon will _have_ to wait.”

He stomped one foot, puffed out his chest, put one hand to his hip, turned up his nose and shut his eyes to tell Oswald that was final.

Unfortunately, his best pal proved to be just as stubborn as Harvey, which Edward should have known.

“It can’t wait, Edward,” Oswald frowned at him, “it’s waited long enough. I’ve only just been able to shake off the effects of that blasted drug your _beloved_ shot into the sky last night, and _now_ I have a few choice words for him -”

“Let me guess,” Edward cut in, looking downwards with one eye open, “you want to shoot him in the head.”

Oswald followed his gaze down to his umbrella. “Well…not immediately.”

“Hm.” Edward frowned. “Well, as I told Harvey, Jon is unavailable right now. He’s resting, and I will _not_ be waking him up for,” he gestured at them both, nose wrinkled and lips pursed, “this display.”

Both Oswald and Harvey looked incredulous in that moment.

_“’Display’?”_ Harvey squawked, scowling all over again.

“Edward, I will not be waiting around for Dr. Crane to decide when he’s coherent,” Oswald snapped. “If he insists on making victims of us whenever All Hallows’ Eve comes around, then _I_ insist on teaching him a lesson in _victim-picking_ when it’s over! Now, I _implore_ you, Edward -”

“Hang on,” Harvey cut in.

Oswald turned to him with a scowl. Whatever made him so sheepish around Harvey was forgotten in that moment, and vice versa as Harvey scowled down at him.

“Who said you’re the one who’s allowed to teach Crane a lesson? _We_ had a goddamn trade going on when he shot that shit into the air, it’s _our_ business that he’s fuckin’ ruined, never mind your ego, Cobblepot!”

Oswald spluttered nonsense again. “My _ego -”_

“Besides,” Harvey removed one of his guns from his belt again and held it up, running his other index finger down the gun’s top, “we’ve been waitin’ for this chance for _ages._ Call it revenge for that shit Scarecrow pulled against us in your lounge, amongst other things.”

Oswald barked, “Well, by _that_ logic, Harvey, _I_ should be the one to have Dr. Crane! He still hasn’t paid for the damages to my lounge because he _still_ refuses to accept responsibility for the event! In any case, it is not my _ego_ that suffered last night, but my lounge and clientele! That disgusting drug that Dr. Crane shot into the air -”

“Oh, tell it to someone who cares, birdman,” Harvey snapped in exasperation. “You’re not the only one who suffered -”

“But I daresay I’m the one that _matters -”_

_“’Matters’?_ That’s fuckin’ rich. We had business going on that would have helped take down the Bat -”

_“Pah!_ As if _you_ could ever take down _Batman!”_

“We’re _going to!”_

The spectator to this petty argument was moving his gaze back and forth between them like a tennis match, frowning increasingly the more they spoke. When their voices rose in volume until they were shouting, talking over each other and getting in each other’s faces, Edward winced and raised his hands to press them over his ears, trying to block the noise out, feeling it stab into his brain.

Jonathan would claim this was to do with his autism; Edward would remind him he most certainly was _not_ autistic, and that nobody enjoyed listening to two grown men shouting at each other.

Finally, it got to be too much; he was _not_ having Two-Face and the Penguin fighting on his doorstep, for God’s sake. It was time to bring out the big guns.

_“Alright!”_ Edward shouted over the noise, throwing his hands down.

Harvey and Oswald silenced themselves immediately, looking over to him in surprise.

Edward’s lips stretched into a sickly sweet smile, though his brow betrayed him, furrowing angrily as he made rings with his index fingers and thumbs and waved them in the air.

“I wasn’t _going_ to talk about this,” he said, “because I’m aware neither of you _like_ when I talk about this, but you’re not _leaving,_ so you’ve _forced_ my _hand!”_

Harvey and Oswald glanced at each other, then looked back to Edward, one eyebrow raised each in confusion.

Edward held up a finger as he stood up, straight as a ruler. “Riddle me _this,_ Oswald Cobblepot and Harvey Dent!”

Harvey groaned softly and rubbed his face, shaking his head, and Oswald’s brow furrowed, though he made no noise out of sympathy for Edward’s habits.

“I am speculated by two, important to you, and identified at your first full breath. I am an example of ‘the more, the merrier’ and - though this fact may make me scarier - I am the first step to everybody’s eventual _death.”_ He spat the word out, making it a threat, then he scowled. _“What am I?”_

Harvey and Oswald both looked away, visibly thinking on it.

There were at least three minutes of silence between them; most of which were dedicated to Oswald’s face blossoming red, his expression crumpling with the awkwardness, and looking anywhere but Harvey.

When he realised why, Harvey groaned irritably and pinched his nose.

_“Well?”_ Edward snapped, knowing the two had the answer, but he needed to hear it before he let them off the hook.

Harvey dropped his hand so suddenly, it slapped against his thigh.

“Sex,” Harvey said. “You’re sex.”

_“Yes. Sex.”_ Edward cocked his head, smiling so wide and crazy-eyed, it could’ve put the Joker to shame. “And do you know what I haven’t _had_ in two months?”

Harvey sighed.

“That?” Oswald asked.

_“Yes. That.”_ Edward put his hands together. “I don’t want Jon to get his rest just because I care about him or any of that nonsense.” He rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air dismissively, then pressed his palm against his other one again. “I want him to get his rest because _I_ \- to be _perfectly frank with you_ \- am _pent up._ For God’s sake - do you _know_ how many _batteries_ I have _gone_ _through_ in the last _two months?!”_

Oswald’s expression creased with embarrassed disgust and he looked away, clearing his throat loudly and squeezing his umbrella’s handle with both hands. _“Edward. Please.”_

“Jesus Christ, Nygma…” Harvey muttered, pinching his nose again.

“Do you?!” Edward reiterated. “Because I lost count! _So.”_ His sweet smile was back, so wide it almost touched his ears. “I am going to say this as _politely_ and as _calmly_ as I can, with the mood I’m currently in.”

There was a pause as Edward shut his eyes and took in a deep breath.

_“GO AWAY!”_

Harvey and Oswald stared at his crazed, furious face in silence, both with varying degrees of surprise, disgust and exasperation on their faces, then they glanced at each other and then back at Edward.

“…Yes,” Oswald said first, one hand going up to play with his bow tie, “well, I can see that you’re busy, Edward. I shan’t…bother you anymore, let you get on with your…morning.”

“Much obliged,” Edward said stiffly, expression still scrunched up with rage, eyes still wide and fists still at his sides. He looked to Harvey expectantly.

Harvey frowned at him, then looked to Oswald, who shrugged one shoulder and cocked his head at him. Harvey looked hesitant, then he put his gun away and reached into his pocket to withdraw his scratched silver dollar.

Both Oswald and Edward watched as he flicked it into the air with his thumb, caught it, then slapped it down onto the back of his other hand. Harvey uncovered the coin to find the non-scarred side up.

“Goddamn it…” He muttered at his misfortune, pocketing the coin again. He huffed, ran a hand down his face, then jabbed a finger at Edward, barking, “Fine, but you tell Crane we’ve got a bone to pick with him. Or two,” he added as he turned on his heel and stepped off of Edward’s property, walking down the stone stairs to the pavement.

Oswald looked to Edward, opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded once.

“Repeat the message for me, Edward. And I will…see you at a later date.”

“Indeed,” Edward said.

Oswald nodded once more, then left him as quickly as he could.

Edward watched him disappear back into his limousine, watched the car drive off down the street, then he straightened up and sighed, head tipped back. He shut the door finally.

“Mmm?”

Edward jolted, more in realisation at what that noise was than in shock, and whipped around.

Jonathan stood on the first landing of the staircase in nothing but his boxers and socks, scratching at his wild, sleep-manipulated hair, one eye opened only halfway while the other remained shut. He was still speaking his tired language, which indicated he was very much not ready to wake up properly just yet. It didn’t escape Edward’s notice that he was clutching a sickle in one hand, and Edward thanked whoever would listen that Harvey and Oswald had left so quickly.

“Oh - No…!” Edward waved his hands madly and stepped forward so Jonathan would see him better; Jonathan didn’t have his glasses on, so Edward was nothing but a far-off, colourful blob. “No, no, no! Go back to bed, dear! Shoo, shoo!”

“Mm?” Jonathan cocked his head, trying to see the door.

“That? That was _nothing!_ Nothing for you to worry about, just some business of mine. I know, they were terribly loud, weren’t they? And rude. But that’s nothing for you to be concerned about. Now, go on.” He shooed at him again. “Off to bed with you! _Vamoose!”_

“Mm…” Jonathan shut his other eye, then turned, bobbing his head in sleepy nods as he waved a hand to tell Edward he’d see him later. He disappeared back up the stairs and, seconds later, Edward heard the bedroom door shut.

Edward sighed, shoulders slumping and head hanging, then he disappeared back through the kitchen’s doorway.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Bernie,” Edward said.

Bernie had reappeared from her nest, though was still wary, so she remained close by in case she had to hide again. For Jonathan Crane’s pet, Bernie was a spectacular coward.

“What your father and I do in our own time isn’t really any of your business, but - rest assured - the big, bad men are gone now, so no more loud noises to scare you back into your nest. Alright?”

Bernie cleaned herself behind her ears again, and Edward took that as a sign that she was calm now, so he nodded in satisfaction and pulled his chair back out and went to sit back down.

Before he could, more banging sounded out at the door, and Bernie whizzed back into her den.

“Oh, for the love of…” Edward pushed his chair out of the way as he left the kitchen, checking first for signs of Jonathan, then he made his way down the hall again.

As he passed it, the security system’s screen flashed to tell him HARLEEN QUINZEL had signed her handprint outside, so there was no summoning security to save him from this one. Her photograph for her ID grinned at him and showed him a peace sign.

Edward frowned at it, then hit DELETE beside her name. He was asked if he was sure and he clicked YES because he most definitely was sure, since Jonathan had added her without his permission.

Harley’s profile blinked away, out of existence, and Edward nodded, satisfied.

He pulled open the door and, once again, didn’t get a chance to adjust his expression.

“Where is he?” Selina Kyle immediately snapped, scowling at him, her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Behind her, Harley Quinn stared daggers at him, face scrunched up in anger. Her tank top, jean shorts and knee socks were covered in pieces of pumpkin guts, staining them and making them sticky to touch. Her mascara was running down her face and her black lipstick was smudged around her mouth, like she’d rubbed her palm through it.

She folded her arms to tell him the two ladies meant business, so would not be going anywhere any time soon.

Edward merely sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The months of September and October were lonely for Edward Nygma. The last night of October made the wait for Jonathan to come home to him just a bit easier. 
> 
> (The first day of November, however, he could have done without…Maybe.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Vicki Vale, Simon Stagg, Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, Bernie, Batman; mentioned Commissioner James Gordon, Harvey Dent, Oswald Cobblepot, Selina Kyle, Harley Quinn, the Joker, Pamela Isley, Calendar Man, Victor Fries, Nora Fries, Garfield Lynns, Harvey Bullock, Query, Echo, Warren White, Waylon Jones.
> 
> Pairings: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma. Mentions of Joker/Harley Quinn and Pamela Isley/Harley Quinn.
> 
> Warnings: involuntary drugging, hallucinations, body horror, blood, bodily harm; mentions of murder, firearm usage, sexual themes, stealing and breaking in.
> 
> Notes: No terrifying Halloween fic for this year, just a sweet, shippy Halloween fic about Ed waiting for his man to come home.
> 
> A WanderVerse fic.
> 
> Chapter 3 of 3.
> 
> All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used).

“…concerning his airship’s involvement with the Scarecrow’s schemes last night, Simon Stagg had this to say.”

“I had nothing to do with what that _madman_ did to Gotham!” Simon snapped, throwing his arms up into the air.

Just off-screen, the reporter interviewing him flinched backwards, but made sure to keep their microphone held under Simon’s chin.

“My company has been victim to rumours and insinuations in the past, but to assume I would go into business with a mentally-deranged man who dresses like a _scarecrow_ just to _drug people?!_ I’m_ insulted._ I would never work with _any_ of Gotham’s Rogues!”

“But, Mr. Stagg,” the reporter cut in, “the bombs dropped over Bleake Island were stored inside _your_ airship, and you want to tell us you had absolutely no idea they were in there?”

“Of course I had no idea! Don’t any of you pay attention?! That madman hijacked one of my airships, right under my nose! Not to mention, the equipment for my newest project was being _transported on_ that airship! It will take _months_ \- no - _years_ to recreate all of that! Don’t you people understand?! I’m the _victim_ of this situation!”

“…Well, I’d say Bleake Island’s citizens are the victims here.”

“I…Y-Yes, them too…”

From his place upon the middle couch of the three in the living room, back in his sweater vest with his hair gelled back again, Edward gave the television a deadpanned look, then scoffed and shook his head.

“As if Jon would get that buffoon involved in his Halloween…”

Jonathan didn’t allow anybody to aid in his Halloween. Not henchmen, not the Rogues, no one. If he needed something from someone to complete his work, he would steal it.

“As of right now,” Vicki Vale went on as she reappeared on screen, “information from sources within the GCPD has confirmed that the Scarecrow was not reprimanded last night, and is currently still at large. Commissioner Gordon advises everybody in Gotham to stay sharp, stay alert, but stay _calm._ Should you encounter or witness the Scarecrow, please, contact the GCPD as soon as possible.”

On the screen came a photograph of Jonathan in full Scarecrow gear, and Edward scoffed again, then peered around his laptop to speak to the mouse in the cage on the coffee table.

“If they wanted to catch Jon so badly,” he said, “they would show him without his costume, isn’t that right, Bernie? What, do they think he walks around in it all the time?” Edward paused, looked away in thought, then shrugged one shoulder. “Well - it’s a fair assumption, I suppose.”

He shrugged both shoulders and shook his head as he went back to typing. “But he has a _mugshot,_ for God’s sake. I’ve seen it! It’s not a _great_ picture, but it’s a picture nonetheless.” He shook his head, then peered around his laptop again. “Then again, Gotham _is_ full of morons, isn’t it, Bernie, dear? We’re the smart ones, aren’t we, you and I?”

Bernie looked up from where she was chewing on the peanut gifted to her by Edward for good behaviour, then she dipped her head to quickly finish the thing off in a couple of nibbles. After that, she immediately turned and ran over to her wheel, hopping on to begin some exercise.

Edward flinched as the green plastic wheel rattled loudly, the sound like a spike to his eardrums and his brain, and he frowned at her. “I know you’re doing that to annoy me, and it’s _very_ impolite.”

Bernie just kept on running, so Edward huffed and disappeared back behind his laptop. He picked his left leg up off of his right and used his foot to push the can of peanuts away from Bernie’s cage.

“No more peanuts for you, then…” he muttered, returning to his work.

Not ten minutes later, Edward heard the stairs creak and a loud yawn, and he turned around to find Jonathan descending the last few steps. He looked to the clock on the wall, discovered it was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon, then turned back to Jonathan to smile at him.

“Why, _there’s_ my King-made monster,” Edward chirped, closing his laptop so he could give his full attention back to the room. He looked to Bernie. “Look, dear, your father is alive after all.”

Jonathan puffed out something between a grunt and a chuckle as he finally opened his eyes properly, glasses perched upon his nose so he no longer saw his environment and his loved ones as colourful blobs. He was still in his boxers and socks, but at least he’d put on a t-shirt.

The rattling of Bernie’s plastic wheel came to a stop as she hopped off of it, recognising that her true owner was in the room. She scurried to the side of her cage, lifting herself up onto her hind legs and placing her paws on one of the horizontal bars of her cage. She sniffed at the air in Jonathan’s direction, squeaking at him.

Jonathan scratched at his hair as he approached Bernie’s cage, the door of which he opened with a smile, reaching his arm inside to collect Bernie onto his hand.

Unlike with Edward, Bernie didn’t hesitate with Jonathan, whom she was far more used to and - quite frankly - was more fond of. She allowed him to scoop her up gently, where he carefully cupped his other hand around her back and lifted her up to his face.

“Aw, Bernie,” Jonathan cooed to her, “Dr. Crane missed you. D’you miss him too?”

Bernie placed her paws against Jonathan’s cheek and rose up on her hind legs again, sniffing at the left lens of his glasses, making Jonathan laugh warmly and inch his head back to avoid getting a whisker in the eye.

He made kissing noises at her, then petted her gently with one finger.

“See?” Edward said as he watched, one leg crossed over the other again. “Safe and sound, as I said.”

Jonathan hummed, then cocked his head at Bernie. “What’d he do ta you, baby girl? He annoy you? Make you uncomfortable? S’okay, he does the same ta me.”

Edward’s expression drooped, lips pursing, in the classic look of a displeased Riddler. “Charming. I’ll have you know Bernie had a _spectacular_ time with me, and that _she_ did all the annoying, thank you very much.” He frowned at her cage, glaring at the plastic wheel. “I think she’s learned that _thing’s_ rattling bothers me. She gets on it whenever I walk into the room. Cheeky, little thing…”

Jonathan chuckled and petted Bernie again. “Good girl. C’mon, you come with me…”

He transferred Bernie to his shoulder with delicately cupped hands; she had no problem scampering onto the bony perch, Jonathan’s shoulder so solid and Bernie so small. Jonathan kept a hand hovered near her to ensure she didn’t fall as he turned to walk toward the kitchen, then dropped it when he was certain she was safe.

Edward’s brow furrowed, perturbed by the lack of greeting or thanks in his direction. He and Jonathan had seen each other a handful of times in the last two months, had had only one genuine conversation in all that time, and Edward had taken time out of his precious schedule to take care of Jonathan’s beloved pet in his place, yet he received not a word about it other than some brief mocking.

He frowned and opened his laptop again. If Jonathan didn’t want to acknowledge his hard work, then he wasn’t going to acknowledge Jonathan’s.

He was aware of the kitchen utilities being used and Jonathan murmuring and cooing at Bernie as he worked, then Jonathan stepped back into the living room with the Wizard of Oz mug that had the Scarecrow circled with marker, the colon-capital D emoticon written beside it to indicate the reference (it’d been a gift from Harley).

Jonathan set his mug down on the table, then he sat down beside Edward and carefully removed Bernie from his shoulder, holding her in cupped hands in his lap as she pushed his fingers about, sniffing and gently nibbling him. He chuckled at her and pushed back to play with her.

Edward’s frown deepened and he clicked his spacebar with more force than necessary.

Jonathan looked up, eyed his screen for a moment, then sniffed and looked back to Bernie.

“So,” he said casually to Edward, “I miss anythin’ important while I was sleeping?”

Edward shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, nothing much. Bernie ate a hearty breakfast of banana and peach chips,” (Jonathan faked a gasp and lifted Bernie to grin at her, then placed her back in his lap) “and I myself had some French toast. Or, at least, I _tried_ to. It was practically congealed by the time I got to it.”

“Oh?” Jonathan asked, more to humour Edward by talking than due to actual interest.

“Yes.” Edward looked up from his work to direct his frown at Jonathan. He said, with sarcastic delight, “Harvey would like me to inform you that he has a bone to pick with you.” He rolled his eyes as he turned back to his laptop. “Or two…”

“How dramatic of him.” Jonathan scoffed. “When doesn’t ‘e have a bone ta pick with me? I offend him by existing.”

Edward hummed.

Jonathan and Harvey had hated each other virtually the moment they had met. Unlike his gripes with the likes of the Joker or Calendar Man, Jonathan didn’t hate Harvey due to any past incidents or iron-strong grudges (though there _had_ been that incident involving Scarecrow and the Iceberg Lounge that neither looked back upon happily, and still blamed the other for, but their dislike for each other had preceded that by years). They simply did not get along.

Jonathan hated Harvey and Harv, Harvey and Harv hated Jonathan. Scarecrow hated Harvey and Harv, Harvey and Harv hated Scarecrow. There was no combination between the four personalities that came up rainbows and roses.

Edward had been the very same with Jonathan once; now, he only hated Scarecrow. The feeling was mutual.

“Yes, well,” Edward said, “Oswald would like me to repeat that information for him. Selina would also like me to tell you she wants to murder you, and Harley wants me to tell you she currently wants to - and I’ll paraphrase this - ‘mash yer stupid head like you made her do to her jack-o-lantern’.”

He pursed his lips and looked to Jonathan out of the corner of his eye.

At Oswald and Selina’s threats, Jonathan had given disinterested grunts, but at Harley’s, he raised an offended eyebrow.

Not surprising; Harley adored Jonathan, for reasons nobody quite knew, and as such she was often one of the most loyal Rogues when it came to Jonathan’s rules about Halloween. Should she catch anybody talking about their Autumn schemes, she would tell them to reconsider since “Ya know how Doctah Crane gets about his Halloween!” and she would do her best to ward her partner - either the Joker or Pamela, depending - off of any plans for Halloween.

Evidently, she just liked to see Jonathan happy.

Jonathan thought nothing much about Harley’s clingy attitude toward him, though he humoured her by accepting her gifts and allowing her to hang off of his arm whenever they sat together. He didn’t exactly _allow_ her to kiss his face or hug him until his ribs cracked, but she tended to do so anyway.

_Harley,_ of all people, should’ve known to take up protection from Jonathan’s toxin. She clearly hadn’t been housed with Pamela at the time, as she would’ve taken her protective medication against poisons and toxins (as was the case when living in Pamela’s home), but she still should’ve invested in a gas mask - or at least stayed away from the window.

Jonathan couldn’t be held responsible for Harley’s actions. How could she want to bash his face in? That was so rude.

She should’ve been happy, anyway, that his plans had worked. They’d worked _perfectly._ Jonathan had gotten to see what he’d wanted to see, what the other Rogues completely missed out on with their own lines of work. He almost wished Edward had been with him to see it too, but no.

It had been his little treasure, and his alone to marvel at in his memories.

…

_Jonathan stood over his prize, almost unbelieving that he’d manage to capture this moment. Not even the throbbing pain in his cheek could ruin it. His gaze was soft, his lips a gentle ‘o’ shape, fear toxin rain dripping from his hair as Batman tried to tell himself none of this was real._

_A gas mask laid nearby, the strap cut, dubbing the mask’s ability to holding onto someone’s head nonexistent. Jonathan couldn’t believe it’d been so easy; one moment, Batman had been holding him by the front of his shirt, scowling in his face, the next…_

_“No…No! The city…The city…!”_

_Batman had had no protection from the rain after Jonathan had cut his mask off; it was soaking into the skin around his mouth, the only part of him not covered by his costume._

_Jonathan wanted to stroke that soaked skin to try and get Batman to share the fear with him, but he’d stopped feeling fear two years ago. So instead, he just watched Batman, on his hands and knees before Jonathan, head bowed and shaking back and forth._

_In Batman’s mind’s eye, the city was crumbling around him, pieces falling from the buildings in large chunks, the ground giving way down below, disappearing into a swirling, rust-coloured vortex of nothingness. The ground shook hard and his fingers curled into fists against the gravel of the rooftop he and Jonathan were on before he ultimately fell to his elbows, trying to find balance again._

_“Do you like it?” Jonathan asked quietly. “I thought you would. It’s new. I was hopin’ to see you like this. I never get to, usually. Is that why you sought me out? Not to arrest me, but to treat me? How very clumsy of you. You could have collected the formula already, made an antidote - it’s falling all around you! But you found me first.” He bared his teeth. “Why? Did ya happen ta see me an’ thought you’d try yer luck?! Did you ignore the cries of yer people to find the man you knew wouldn’t assist you?! Why did you do that?! Tell me!”_

_Batman didn’t reply; he was too busy pathetically trying to crawl to the building’s edge, reaching out for the one opposite as it broke down before his eyes, another piece of Gotham he couldn’t save._

_Jonathan’s scowl dropped. He looked at the building Batman was reaching for, then looked back at the Bat himself._

_He turned his head to give Batman an observing side-eye. “…What a mind you have. I still ache ta open it one day.”_

_Batman put a hand over the symbol on his chest, fingers curling over his heart._

_Jonathan watched him, then slowly walked toward him. “…You’ll feel like yer dyin’, but I assure you, yer not. I don’t wanna kill you, Batman. I wanna expose you to the world, break down the legend of the Dark Knight…then lock you up in my basement and hold you there forever. I wanna pump you full of toxin _overand over_ again, and watch your fear everyday fer the rest of my life. What a treat that would be.”_

_He crouched down beside Batman. “Yer like my Edward, yer fear is…so beautiful.”_

_He ripped off a glove, ran a finger over Batman’s bottom lip, then brought that finger to his mouth and licked it._

_“I don’t blame you fer falling victim ta this. Fear is so…addictive, isn’t it? I wish I could join you all.”_

_Jonathan sighed through his nose and stood up to leave, pulling on his glove as he did so, only for Batman to grab his leg in one hand._

_He stopped immediately, looking down at him; where he expected Batman to pull him off his feet and knock him unconscious, the Dark Knight only dragged himself closer to Jonathan and grabbed at him with his other hand, pressing his forehead against Jonathan’s knee._

_“Stop,” Batman said. “Wait…”_

_Jonathan waited for him to do something more, then he scoffed. “That it? That’s yer attempt? Not gonna hit me again or anythin’?”_

_Batman tightened his hold, then gasped out, “You have to get out. You have to get to safety.”_

_Jonathan frowned confusedly. “What?”_

_“You have to get out, I…they’re dead. They’re both dead. They’re all - _dead,_ but…” Batman looked up at him._

_He still had those white films over his eyes to hide them away, but Jonathan could see just from the shape of his cowl’s brow, from the crease his mouth had become, how panicked he was under the toxin’s effects._

_Jonathan had seen Batman’s eyes only once; they were blue, and so Jonathan filled in the blanks in his mind. He made him look extra devastated._

_“I can still save _someone.”

_Batman stared up at him and did not see Jonathan Crane as the Scarecrow, but saw him as he should have been: of a better weight, in his tweed blazer and bow tie, with his hair cropped short and his half moon glasses, just as he had been when Batman and Jonathan Crane had first met._

_Not that Jonathan would know that; he only looked more confused. “D’you know who I am?”_

_“Yes,” Batman replied through a gasp._

_Batman used Jonathan’s clothing to pull himself up, making Jonathan stagger slightly, then Batman was standing before him and gripping his biceps hard._

_For a moment, Jonathan thought he would headbutt him, but Batman only pulled him against himself and held him tightly._

_“What?!” Jonathan snapped, confused. “The hell’re you doin’, boy?!”_

_“Saving you,” Batman replied, holding Jonathan tightly with his left arm while his right hand ventured down to his belt, shaking and unstable as he grabbed for his grappling gun._

_His hand was still shaking as he pointed it to a nearby rooftop and shot it, the hook finding purchase on a gutter, and Batman pushed the button to pull he and Jonathan off of their feet, just as the rooftop they’d been standing on gave way and fell into brick and dust._

_The wind rushed through Jonathan’s wet hair and chilled his skin as it clung to his soaked costume. He watched the streets below as he and Batman rushed through the air, only for the trip to be cut short when the gutter Batman had attached them to gave way under their weight and the force of the grapple’s pull._

_Batman made a small, defeated noise in his throat as the two of them fell through the air. As quickly as he could, he curled around Jonathan and wrapped his cape around him, then buried his face in Jonathan’s hair to protect him._

_With no fear, Jonathan felt only annoyance that this was happening at all, smothered in the Batman’s chest like that, falling to what could possibly be their deaths - he couldn’t die on Halloween night, for God’s sake! It was unacceptable!_

_Luckily for him, they didn’t hit the street below, but rather the rooftop living in the shadow of the building Batman had tried to get to._

_There was a crash as Batman’s armour hit the gravel; they rolled three times, Batman tightening his hold on Jonathan, then they stopped and Jonathan wrestled out of his grasp, scrambling away from him._

_“The hell’s wrong with you, boy?!” Jonathan shouted as he got to his feet. He waved an arm at him. “Tryin’ ta fly around in yer condition?! Who d’you think ya are, King of the Jungle?!”_

_“Professor Crane…”_

_Jonathan scoffed with disgust. “We’ve had this conversation: ya can’t help me, son. No one can.”_

_Batman rolled over onto his hands and knees, then looked up at him. “Professor Crane.”_

_Jonathan faltered._

_Batman’s eyes narrowed, and his voice came out angry. _“Professor Crane.”

_Jonathan stepped back before Batman could punch him again._

_His mind clearing a bit, Batman pushed himself to his feet, took two steps toward Jonathan, then stumbled and dropped to one knee. He punched the ground in frustration, trying to fight against the toxin again, then raised his head, only to pause._

_Behind Jonathan came a tall, shadowy figure with foggy lenses for eyes and claws at the tips of its fingers, with two cylinder-like structures protruding from its fanged mouth. It rose up over Jonathan, double his height, and crept up until it stood behind him._

_It eyed Batman, then dug its claws into Jonathan’s shoulders._

_“No,” Batman’s eyes widened, “stop!”_

_Batman clutched at his head, trying to will the hallucinations to stop, and looked up just in time to see the thing grab Jonathan’s head in one hand, yank it to the side to expose his throat, and use the claw on its other index finger to slit Jonathan’s neck open._

_“NO!”_

_Jonathan looked behind him confusedly; in Batman’s fantasy, he was laying dead on the ground, blood pooling under his cut throat._

_“Stop…!” Batman hissed, bowing his head again. He punched the ground again, inhaling through gritted teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to break out of the drug’s control._

_Jonathan stepped back, away from him, and frowned bitterly. “…Why have you snatched my fun from me, Batman?…No. No, I can still have it. Without you.”_

_Jonathan snatched his mask from where he’d tucked it into the rope tied around his torso and pulled it down over his head, glaring at Batman through the lenses and frowning still behind the protruding filters of the gas mask built into the burlap sack, then he tugged his hood up and ran._

_“Stop!” Batman shouted. “Dr. Crane!”_

_When he looked up to watch Jonathan go, hand held out to try and stop him, he saw Jonathan Crane with his eyes torn out, his throat still bleeding, lips sewn back to force them into an open smile, his tongue lulling out and blood seeping down his chin from his missing teeth. He was dangled over the rooftop’s surface, sickles stabbed through his bleeding wrists, strings tied around the sickles’ handles to hang him like a puppet._

_The thing was holding onto the strings, high above them in the sky._

_“No chance, son,” Jonathan called over his shoulder, then leapt from the roof, using pipes and windowsills to safely get to the ground._

_He kept an eye on that roof; it took only a minute for Batman to regain himself and stand again._

_When he did, Jonathan ran away._

…

Before he got too caught up in last night’s success, Jonathan shook his head softly and grunted again, a bit miffed, but nonetheless shrugged a shoulder and used a thumb to stroke down Bernie’s back.

“I’ll deal with all o’ them later, I got more important business ta deal with first.”

Edward hummed in disinterest, tapping away at his keyboard. Of course, he knew Jonathan coming home and getting his rest didn’t mean the end of all the Halloween business; Jonathan still had to take notes from the evening, which meant more disappearing into his basement and hunching over his notebooks.

Which meant even more time spent away from Edward, and even _more_ time that Edward had to spend tending to his own needs for company. He could feel an ache in his gut already, and mentally checked if he’d acquired those double-A batteries he’d needed.

Edward pulled his attention back to his laptop, punching in the vital information for the gadget that would detect fear toxin in the air. As much as he wanted to just throw his laptop aside and attach himself to Jonathan’s side, he refused to give in; his bitterness over Jonathan’s lack of acknowledgement beat his need for physical contact with his lover.

They sat in silence for a good twenty minutes, the tension being punctuated only by Jonathan’s soft coos to Bernie, her occasional squeak, and Edward’s typing, which got quicker the more Jonathan cooed at Bernie. He hit the spacebar a bit harder than he’d meant again, and Jonathan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

Jonathan stared for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “So. Edward.”

Edward showed he was listening only by raising an eyebrow. He didn’t care if Jonathan saw it or not.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that yer givin’ me the silent treatment. Fer some reason.”

Edward’s lips pursed. ‘For some reason’, indeed.

Jonathan idly pet Bernie’s head, being very gentle as he touched the little nick in her right ear. “You were chattin’ ta me last night, I remember that, an’ you were talkin’ ta me earlier when I got woken up, _and_ ya greeted me when I came downstairs, so evidently it’s somethin’ I’ve done since makin’ my coffee.”

There was a pause.

“Did you want some coffee?”

Edward’s expression creased up in a scowl.

“I didn’t drink it all, if you want some. Jus’ go get it,” Jonathan replied casually as he pushed Bernie with his thumb while she had her tiny paws on the pad, pushing back against him. He smiled down at her and let her win.

Edward’s fingers curled into fists on his keyboard; the joints of his thumbs were pressing on some buttons, and there was now a trail of Ds and Js in his document.

He would’ve been much more loving to Jonathan this afternoon if Jonathan had bothered to greet him after these long months apart. Between ignoring Edward’s efforts to care for Bernie and putting all of his attention on her instead, Edward was just annoyed with him, which was the last thing he’d wanted upon Jonathan’s awakening.

Jonathan sighed exasperatedly, and that only made Edward want to bludgeon him with his laptop.

_Jonathan_ had a problem with _his_ behaviour? _Jonathan_ was the one who wasn’t bothering to show his gratitude! _Jonathan_ was the one being irritating! _Jonathan_ was the one who obsessed over Halloween so much, he abandoned Edward for two months, leaving nothing but his fucking _mouse_ behind! _Edward_ was just the one who had to put up with this crap!

Fuck him. The next time Jonathan asked Edward to care for Bernie, no matter how fond of her Edward had grown, he would tell Jonathan to go fuck himself.

Edward’s fingers squeezed around his laptop, but he forced himself not to use it as a weapon, if only because he’d made it himself.

“Not the coffee, then. Right.” Jonathan sighed again. “Is it cause I ain’t wearin’ pants? Did you not see that when I came down? These ain’t that dirty.”

Edward glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

The lack of verbal response made Jonathan look at him, then he sighed again.

“I think Mr. Nygma’s jealous of you, Bernie,” he said to the mouse in his lap, “he only acts this annoyin’ when he’s not getting enough of my attention.”

Just one more word from Jonathan was all Edward needed to be convinced to slam his laptop over Jonathan’s head. Perhaps he should have allowed Harvey and Oswald to shoot him earlier; Edward could have joined them.

Jonathan sighed for a fourth time, then rolled his eyes and looked to Edward. “Alright, fine. I give. Lemme know what I’ve done, then, go on. Rant ta me, I’m all ears.” When Edward didn’t immediately reply, Jonathan poked his arm. “Answer me this riddle, Mr. Expert.”

Edward continued to glare, but at least he began to speak again. “Oh? Want me to speak to you, do you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but you know what they say: silence is deafening.”

“Well, I tend to think of it as golden.” Edward went back to his laptop.

Jonathan huffed. He stood up from his seat and leaned over to Bernie‘s cage, cooing to her softly as he gently lowered her back into the safety of her habitat. He curled and uncurled a finger at her, then closed her cage.

Doing so showed Edward he had Jonathan‘s attention, and Jonathan looked at him expectantly as he sat down beside him again. “Happy now?”

Edward glanced at him, then turned his head away and shut his eyes, nose pointed at the air.

Jonathan threw his head back. “Edward…”

Edward glanced at him.

“Jus’ tell me, would you? The suspense is killin’ me,” Jonathan said dryly, rolling his eyes, making Edward bare his teeth.

“If only,” Edward snapped back, then huffed. “Fine. If your inferior, primitive mind can’t _possibly_ figure out why I might be upset with you - beyond thinking I could _actually_ be craving _your_ attention, which,” he paused to laugh cruelly, “is _ludicrous_ \- then I will tell you, generous genius as I am.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes again, but nevertheless stared down at him, waiting.

Edward’s frown pinched. “I didn’t _have_ to take care of Bernie for you. I could have passed her off onto my employees, the ones who care for her when we’re in Arkham. I could have told you to take her with you again. I could have left her to her own devices during your time away. But I didn’t. Why? I don’t know. Is it because I love you? Is it because she’s actually not as bad as I first thought? No offence, Bernie, dear,” he added, raising a hand and looking to her.

Bernie twitched her nose at him, then turned around and hopped onto her wheel to do another few laps, making the plastic rattle.

Edward twitched, then sighed. “I see I’ve offended you…But I digress,” he turned back to Jonathan, still gesturing to Bernie, “she’s in perfect health. Hasn’t seen a bad mood throughout our time together, minus when she was getting used to seeing me instead of you. We’ve grown quite fond of each other. And what do I receive upon you finally getting home? No acknowledgement. No pat on the back. Nothing. Even back when we had an actual conversation, that time you came to collect your equipment, you merely hummed after _rudely_ scolding me for picking her up - _which,_ might I remind you, she_ likes_ now. Because I did _such_ _a good job.”_

Jonathan continued to stare at him, no sign of remorse for his behaviour. Typical.

“So,” he turned back to his laptop, “if you want this,” he gestured to himself with a circular motion of his right hand, “then I’d better hear this.” He used his left hand to mimic a mouth opening and closing, then went back to typing.

He didn’t see Jonathan’s reaction to his asserting himself, but Bernie had stopped running on her wheel, so _someone_ was paying attention.

Edward didn’t give Jonathan the satisfaction of checking if he was going to say anything. If Jonathan remained quiet, then it was his loss. He would be receiving nothing from Edward until he heard that ‘thank you’, so if Jonathan was going to be stubborn about it, then he would have to get used to the lonesome.

(See how he liked it.)

Beside him, he felt Jonathan lean away from him, sensed him pause to think about it, then felt him lean to retrieve his mug of coffee from the table. He focused on his document, but couldn’t help but pick up the sound of gulping in the background and, as Jonathan placed his mug back down, he realised Jonathan had just downed his coffee.

Jonathan huffed, then there was a hand on the right side of his head, an arm behind his neck, and Jonathan was pulling him to himself to whisper in his ear, “Thank you. Fer takin’ care of Bernie…Ya did real good.”

Edward’s typing came to a stop.

Jonathan watched him, head still leant close to his. His breath tickled Edward’s ear.

Edward shut his eyes and tipped his head back, inhaled deeply and exhaled deeper, then opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Jonathan.

The two men locked their stern gazes, then Edward planted a quick, soft kiss on Jonathan’s lips. “You’re welcome. She was a darling.”

One side of Jonathan’s lips turned upwards in a half smile and he released Edward’s head and leaned back as Edward shut his laptop.

Edward held up a finger and used the other hand to reach for the bottle of Purell on the coffee table. He thrust it toward Jonathan, who clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes again as he took it.

“She roams around in her own _urine,_ Jon,” Edward said sternly as Jonathan squirted some hand wash onto his palm. “Just because I like her now doesn’t mean I’ve become oblivious to her bathroom habits.”

Jonathan chuckled as he rubbed the gel into his skin. “Y’know, some people actually like that smell. Say it smells like popcorn.”

“Well, those people are _mentally ill_ and need to be _put down.”_

Jonathan barked out a laugh.

Edward waited until he was done cleaning his hands, then he sighed in fake tiredness and shut his eyes, patting Jonathan’s arm with the back of his hand as he used the other to pick his laptop off of himself and onto the seat beside him.

“Now, make yourself useful,” Edward said, then began twisting on his seat to show his back to Jonathan. “Hold me now, would you?”

Jonathan considered it, then hummed and adjusted his position until he was laying with his head against the couch’s arm, legs open so Edward could sit between them, and he held out his arm in offering so Edward could lean right back and onto his chest, which Edward did so quite happily.

As Jonathan’s right arm rested over Edward’s chest, Edward lifted his left hand and Jonathan intertwined their fingers, lifting Edward’s knuckles to his mouth but not kissing them.

“You hear the screaming last night?” Jonathan asked, grinning against Edward’s hand.

Edward smiled and craned his neck to look up at Jonathan over his shoulder. “I did, when I went to the roof. Had to soundproof our room so we could sleep last night.”

“Weren’t it the most beautiful sound ya’ve ever heard?”

“Something like that.” His smile fell. “Did you want ice for your cheek?”

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jonathan said, still grinning. He stared into space as he remembered what he caused last night.

Edward could see him getting distracted and that didn’t sit well with him at all, so he wrenched his hand from Jonathan’s despite how much he was enjoying holding it and turned over, coming chest to tummy with Jonathan.

He put a finger to Jonathan’s chin like it was the on switch for Jonathan’s attention, and Jonathan looked at him.

“Did you steal from Fries to get that snow effect for your toxin?” He asked.

Jonathan’s eyes lit up, and he shrugged a shoulder as his grin became a thin smile. “Nothin’ he’d particularly miss, nothin’ that would compromise Nora’s condition. Just a little somethin’ ta help solidify the toxin to a point that it ain’t like bullets, s’all. Who best ta make snow with than Fries, right?” He hummed, looked away, then raised his eyebrows as he looked to Edward again. “I stole from Garfield too.”

Edward faked a gasp, then poked Jonathan’s chin again. _“Naughty.”_

“Eh, I was outta gunpowder, is all.”

Edward chuckled, then raised an eyebrow in wicked amusement. “And _hijacking_ an _airship._ _Very_ naughty.”

Jonathan laughed. “Ya can get anywhere with a lab coat, clipboard and a face that says ya know what yer doin’. Li’l makeup ta cover yer scars, o’ course. That, an’ Stagg’s a goddamn fool.”

Edward barked out a cackle, then lowered his head to rest it against Jonathan’s chest. “Tell me more, dear. Everything you did to succeed last night.”

He heard Jonathan suck in an excited breath through his teeth, meaning he was grinning again, and he started on his explanation of everything.

Edward happily let him; a man as stoic and as unapproachable as Jonathan didn’t get much of a chance to ramble about his interests and his work, either because he didn’t want to reveal secrets or because nobody asked. He had no problem hiding things from Edward before Halloween, but now that Edward had seen everything, he’d been bursting at the seams at the prospect of talking about it.

Edward - despite how much he loved his own voice - adored hearing Jonathan sound so excited. He was adorable when he was excited.

Despite himself, he smiled sweetly and took in the sound of Jonathan’s heartbeat. It’d been ages since Jonathan had held him - at least, it certainly felt that way, since Edward was so used to cuddling near-every night. There’d definitely been something missing about his bedtime routine, and he was sure he’d just found it.

He wouldn’t, of course, be telling Jonathan about this because they weren’t the sentimental type. Obviously.

Edward felt Jonathan’s fingers in his hair, idly petting and stroking through his brown locks as he talked, and he smiled and opened one eye to look in Jonathan’s direction fondly before he shut it again to relax as he listened to Jonathan tell him about Batman’s reaction to his new fear toxin.

Jonathan was his until next Halloween - unless the Bat found him first.

Edward’s eyes opened instantly.

That was right: Jonathan was a wanted man now. November was his hibernation period - when he would refuel his energy levels, remake batches of toxin, in general rest from the onslaught he’d brought upon Gotham - and so Jonathan would do his best to hide, but getting poisoned by toxin would only make Batman more determined to get to him.

Edward chewed his lip.

Last year, he’d just tried to make sure Jonathan didn’t leave the house for any reason whatsoever, but that had barely worked since Jonathan kept going out to his labs to acquire notes for his toxin, so he could update his journals on how his research was going. He’d been careful, but Edward would have preferred for him to stay inside.

_Inside,_ he got: Batman had caught him two days into his hibernation.

Edward had busted him out of Arkham five days after his incarceration - with a lawyer, no less.

He pondered it, then a light bulb lit up in his brain and he raised his head suddenly.

“Jon.”

Jonathan halted his explanation of his theories on Batman’s fear, frowning at being interrupted.

“We need to get out.”

Jonathan blinked at Edward’s wide-eyed look. “…Of the house?”

“Of Gotham.” Edward leaned up on his elbows, making Jonathan wince. “You’re going to be a wanted man now, and Batman knows of our partnership - as do Gordon and Bullock - so they’ll be looking for me too, won’t they? So let’s not hide and wait around this year, let’s just…leave.”

Jonathan stared at him in silence, still slightly put-off by Edward’s interruption, but he listened anyway.

Tradition was that he simply hid in his home until December, when everything died down, and here Edward was, trying to change this one too.

Tradition be damned, indeed.

“…And where would we go, exactly? Can’t go ta Metropolis or Star City, the Bat’s li’l friends will be lookin’ out for me.”

“I’m not suggesting there. I have somewhere better.” He smiled widely and raised his eyebrows. “My cabin.”

Jonathan stared at him in silence, then raised his own eyebrows in surprise. “Yer what?”

“My cabin!” Edward poked him in the chin again. “You’re not the only one with secrets, my Southern sweet. I own a cabin in the woods; I rent it out sometimes, for extra money.”

Jonathan’s brow furrowed. “…This sounds like a gag.”

“It’s not! I rent out a cabin to holiday-goers for extra money. They have no way of knowing it’s really me, don’t worry; nobody knows I own it. Well, except you, now.” He prodded his chin again. “I used to use it as a hideout-slash-private place to think, just somewhere to escape to when I needed to think my deepest thoughts. A ‘man cave’, if you will. Eventually, I found less of a use for it, and so I started renting it out. I’ve had families stay there, men having midlife crises, people with their lovers - all sorts. Nothing of my criminal identity is there, it’s just a lovely little cabin - and we could go there! You and I, together.”

He smiled excitedly and ducked his head down, staring at Jonathan with his big, green eyes, just waiting for him to tell Edward what a brilliant idea that was.

Jonathan stared at him in silence, then he squinted at him. “This still sounds like a joke.”

Edward groaned irritably. “It’s not a joke! I own _other_ property, Jonathan, it’s not weird! I also own a lighthouse in Iceland, but I’ve never mentioned _that_ either.”

“…Lighthouse.”

Edward faltered, then looked away with an embarrassed pout. “…It was a drunken purchase.”

“Ah.”

Edward shook his head, spluttering nonsense as he caught himself before he told anymore tales of he, Query and Echo’s celebrations after successful heists. “The cabin exists, Jon! I can show you the papers!”

“Alright. An’ where is this magical cabin?”

“It’s not magical, it’s logical. And it’s in Michigan.”

_“Michigan?”_ Jonathan repeated, staring at Edward like he was crazy (which he, of course, was certainly not).

Edward nodded. “It’s near Grayling, in the woods.”

“The woods.” Looking at the ceiling, Jonathan bobbed his head as he pressed his lips together, thinking on it. He looked to Edward. “Ya know there’s dirt there, right?”

Edward pursed his lips, displeased. Now was no time for Jonathan to joke about this OCD he claimed Edward had. This was serious.

Besides, there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep tidy.

“Yes, I’m aware there’s _dirt_ in the woods, Jonathan. Thank you.” He softened his expression. “It’s right next to a lake, too, where you could fish for our dinner. I could travel into Grayling whenever we need groceries or anything; other than that, it would be just the two of us, together.” He smiled sweetly. “Doesn’t that sound nice? The role of fugitives aside, it would be like we were on vacation. We’ve never been on vacation together before -”

“I’ve never been on vacation,” Jonathan said casually.

Edward frowned, either at the interruption or the obviousness of the statement. “Somehow, that doesn’t shock me. But, no - we’d be safe there, and it would be a great chance for you to relax and recharge your batteries. What do you say?”

Jonathan stared at him, then tipped his head back to squint at the ceiling.

Edward so hoped he would go along with it; what could be more perfect than a cabin in the woods, far from Gotham and the Batman, just the two of them? Edward could already picture himself sitting outside by a fire while Jonathan sat on the tiny pier that punctured the lake’s edge and worked on catching fish for their dinner, then retiring to bed together in their safe, secluded home away from home.

Not to mention, it would give them all the time in the world to spend time together. Jonathan was far from a clingy boyfriend, so Edward had no doubt he’d be shrugging off a few hugs or intimate touches, but it would be a far sight better than having Jonathan sneak off to his labs for his notes and not knowing if he was going to come home or not.

Just the two of them, on vacation. They would make the most of it; wouldn’t treat it as hiding from the law, but hiding from everybody, a getaway for some relaxation.

“…A lake,” Jonathan said slowly. “Are you suggestin’ I do the fishin’ cause I’ll feel at home on the water?”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Y’know. Like that lake in Georgia I supposedly arose from?”

Edward snorted and slapped a hand over his nose and mouth, blushing in embarrassment at the noise but too busy giggling to truly care.

“Yeah, that’s right. I _was_ listenin’ last night. And quite frankly, Edward, I’m greatly offended.”

Edward stopped giggling.

“Everybody knows I dragged myself out of a well, not a lake.”

Edward had to hold both hands over his nose and mouth this time, but they did nothing; Jonathan had said it so bluntly and so seriously, Edward couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up from his throat, thrown into the air before he collapsed on Jonathan’s chest to cackle into his shirt.

When he was finished, he raised his head to smile widely at Jonathan, still vibrating with chuckles as he leaned an elbow on Jonathan’s chest, head perched in his hand, and he poked Jonathan’s nose.

If Jonathan had changed his expression during Edward’s laughing fit, he’d quickly changed it back when Edward raised his head.

“A _well, then._ My mistake.”

“Hm. It is yours.” Jonathan nodded, then looked away to ponder Edward’s actual question. “…I’d hafta bring my research with me.”

“You can. We’ll pack whatever notebooks you need, granted they don’t weigh us down. I will, however, put my foot down at bringing any toxin along. We won’t need it, and I refuse to wear that gas mask for another night.”

Jonathan pursed his lips.

Edward sensed his displeasure, but he didn’t care. Fear toxin had reigned their lives lately; it was time for a break from the stuff.

“…Bernie can come too.” Jonathan looked at her cage; Bernie was inside her tube, licking her paws again. Jonathan briefly became dewy-eyed looking at her.

It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Edward almost rolled his eyes at the fact Jonathan felt the need to insist upon this.

“Yes, obviously, Bernie will be coming along too. I’m not going to ask you to spend another month away from her.”

“Good.” Jonathan looked away, toward the stairs. He squinted. _“…Michigan.”_

“What’s wrong with Michigan?”

“Gonna get cold.”

“So will Gotham, if we stay. It’s November, I’m not expecting us to be in board shorts and sun hats.” (That would be quite a sight.) “But we’ll be fine, there’re two fireplaces in the property, not to mention a fire pit outside.”

Edward rested his chin on him again. “We can drive down there, it’ll take about twelve hours or so, if traffic’s good. Not too long, not too short - we could make it a good time. Take shifts driving, stop for food, that whole thing.”

Jonathan cocked his head; Edward hoped this meant he was closer to saying yes. “…Gonna be tough gettin’ outta the city. They’re lookin’ fer me. Can’t get to Miagani Island, either, so we can’t leave anyways.”

“Well, no, not if we take the road.” He smirked. “We have the option of water or air. White owes me a favour after I supplied him with the security codes to one of Two-Face’s hideouts. They were having one of their little tiffs at the time,” he added when Jonathan looked confused, waving a hand casually as he rolled his eyes. “I think he can get me a helicopter, he’s done so before. Though - Mm. He might blab to you-know-who. Darn.”

Jonathan considered this. “…Waylon owes me a favour too.”

“Ah - there you go! Our water option.” He ducked his head down and smiled hopefully. “Come on, Jon, what do you say?”

Jonathan stayed quiet, looking anywhere but Edward while he pondered it.

Edward felt his heartbeat quicken as he waited for the verdict, hoping to whoever would listen that Jonathan would say yes. He was already having fantasies about this trip, Jonathan couldn’t take it away. If he said no, Edward was tempted to knock him out and kidnap him.

“…Maybe,” Jonathan said with a sniff.

Edward deflated, which helped Jonathan to slide out from beneath him, sitting up and gently pushing Edward away.

He stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms over his head, popping his spine and groaning lightly at the ease of tension, then he shook his shoulders and cracked his neck.

“I got business to attend to first. Gotta get my stuff in order, an’ all that.”

Jonathan walked away from the couch, heading toward his basement study’s door, and Edward watched him as he passed him, then he hung his head and pouted at the carpet.

He didn’t want to go through with the kidnapping, considering what a pain it’d be, but if he had to…

“Oh, and, uh.”

Edward looked over his shoulder.

Jonathan leaned against his basement’s doorway with his right hand, tapping the other side with his left index finger, then he looked over his shoulder at Edward and pointed at him.

“Get on that cabin in the woods idea, actually. Ya might have somethin’ there.”

Edward’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape as Jonathan then disappeared into the darkness of his study, shutting the door behind him.

Edward turned away as he considered all of this, then he grinned widely and had to stop himself from squealing, holding his fists under his chin as he shut his eyes and wiggled in place, shaking his shoulders back and forth. The rather high-pitched squeal was muffled by his lips, in the end.

Squeaking reached his ears and he opened his eyes to look as Bernie approached the bars of her cage, raising herself to her hind legs to sniff in his direction.

Edward found it sweet that she cared, and he grinned at her as he leaned toward her to speak, “You see that, Bernie? Mr. Nygma _always_ gets what he wants.”

He smirked smugly and sat back in his seat, resting his left arm on the back of the couch as he crossed his left leg over his right.

_“Always.”_


End file.
